Blue Wind and Purple Summer
by GuiltyOne687
Summary: What really happened.
1. Ch 1 So Dark

"You know, by the time you finally wake up, I'll be lying on some trash heap!" Ilse spat bitterly, her voice cracking. She stormed off, Gustave Baum's shirt whipping in the wind like white birds, attempting to free themselves from a net. The wet, slushy snow was cold on her feet, but she couldn't feel it, not now, she was too hot and angry.

_How could he? How could he just...just abandon me like that?_ Melchior had abandoned her; she didn't expect anything less from a radical like him, but Moritz, Moritz was sweet and kind...and nothing like Melchi. She felt hot tears stinging her eyes as she marched through the street, her hair bouncing behind her, her vision to fall, sticking to her eyelashes. Does he not want me? Maybe he thinks I'm ugly. A lump formed in her throat...another man who does not want me. Her stepfather grew bored of her. Melchior abandoned her after just one night. Hanschen... well, maybe Hanschen not wanting her was a good thing. But Moritz...why Moritz, why?

"Ilse, ILSE!" she stopped cold. She heard his voice over the rising winds, calling out her name. She shook her head fiercely, refusing to let herself turn around. Oh, _**now**_ he wanted her? Well it's too late now. She wasn't going to sit and wait for him to wake up. _Go back to your stupid Virgil and equations, you, you..._She heard footsteps, but they stopped as quickly as they came. She turned around, but it was too dark. Ten minutes ago you could see the whole horizon, but now the night had taken over. The fog had settled in, and everything around her was a dark mass. Then she saw it; a little glimmer in the distance, up on a shadowy knoll. It looked like a candle. She wandered towards it slowly, her feet now numb with cold. As she came to the base of the hill, she recognized it. It was the hill between Wendla and Thea's house, where they all used to play pirates together. A wave of warm nostalgia washed over her, twice in one night. She could just make out the tree on top of the hill, the one Melchior used to climb to the top and shout "You'll never take my treasure!" while Moritz sat at the base of the trunk, watching. She could finally see what the light was; someone was burning a piece of paper. The figure was tall and thin, but too hard to make out from the bottom of the hill.

"So what will I say?" the figure cried, his voice muddled with tears. It was Moritz; she'd recognize that pubescent voice-cracking anywhere. "I'll tell them all," he was saying, "The angels..."

Angels?

"I got drunk in the snow!" he was crying full-out now, his words came between heavy sobs. "Then sang...and played pirates! Yes...I'll tell them...I'm ready now...I'll be an angel." Then she heard a clicking sound, the same clicking sound she heard that morning, when she woke up to...

Oh God. Her blood turned to ice water. With a sudden rush of heat, she dashed up the hill like a deer. It was slippery from the dew; she tripped and fell, but was up again before she could even feel any pain.

"Ten minutes ago you could see the entire horizon," Moritz was saying in a monotone. She got faster, and faster. "Now...only sparks. You see...shooting stars." Faster and faster still. She reached the tree and peered around it. "So dark..." She saw the glint of metal. "So dark, so dark, so dark...so dark..." Moritz put the gun in his mouth.

"MORITZ NO!!" Ilse lunged from behind the tree and grabbed Moritz's arm with both hands. Moritz jerked his arm and cried out in surprise, the gun lurching away from his mouth. She clutched the gun with one hand, pulling it down towards the ground, pointing it away from his face.

"Ilse!" Moritz finally exclaimed, and Ilse heard a tinge of anger in his voice. He began to struggle. "Let go! Let go of me!" He grabbed her arm with his free hand and tried shoving her off him.

"Don't do it, Moritz!" Ilse cried, fighting the tears in her voice, trying to sound brave. "Please don't die, I need you!" She clung to him for dear life. He wouldn't shoot her to shoot himself, would he?

"I want this!" He shouted, the anger rising. "Dammit Ilse, let me GO!" He jerked his arm harder now, using his shoulder to try and bump her off, but she held that gun down. "I said LET ME **_GO_**!!"

BANG!


	2. Ch 2 I'm Calling

The gun went off. For a moment, nothing happened. Time stood still as the sound made the air ring. Then another noise pierced the air. A horrible, anguished, pained moaning noise intermixed with gasps. Somehow, Moritz had wiggled his elbow past Ilse's tight grasp on his arm, and bent his forearm up and bent his head down simultaneously in an attempt to shoot himself in the temple. But Ilse had moved. Now she slumped down to the ground, crying in pain and clutching her left shoulder, which was red.

The gun had missed Moritz's temple. As he jerked his forearm up, Ilse had lost her footing and fell into him, knocking his head out of the way of the bullet's path. Instead, it clipped her in her left shoulder.

"Oh my God..." Moritz finally took a breath in, and dropped to his knees next to her. "Oh my God, Ilse! Ilse, are you alright?" All of his preconceived notions of that night had flown away in a gust. "This...this is your fault!" he snapped suddenly. He didn't even know why he said it, but it didn't stop him. "If you hadn't stopped me, you wouldn't have gotten hurt...! Ilse let me see...you're bleeding...!"

"Don't you TOUCH me!" Ilse shouted harshly, pulling away from him. "My fault? MY fault? I wanted to SAVE you! I was trying to save you, and you blame me...and you shot me, you SHOT me!!"

"WHY COULDN'T YOU LET ME DIE?" Moritz screamed, the echo ringing for miles. He clutched his stomach as if it would fall out of him, and began to sob heavily, wheezing for air in between cries. "I want to die...I want to die...I don't know...I don't know...so dark..." He made a grab for the gun that had clacked to the ground when he knelt, but Ilse got there first. She smacked his hand, hard. He recoiled in surprise, and looked up to see Ilse glaring at him with wet eyes of fire.

"You're so selfish." She finally said lowly. "If you die, Melchior, Wendla, your father, your mother... everybody who loves you would grieve. You would put all of them through that kind of pain, just to escape your own?" Moritz stared at her for a few moments, before lowering his eyes..

"Nobody loves me." He muttered. "My father hates me, I failed him. I'm just a burden to Melchior, he'd be better off without me. Wendla... I haven't spoken to her since we got put in separate schools. My mother...she doesn't care. She does whatever my father says, and he said...he said I had to go..." He looked up at her to see her murderous glare had softened. He felt Ilse wrap her right arm around him, patting his back gently like his mother used to when he was a child. She gently rested her head on his own, burying her face in his hair. Being so close to her wasn't strange anymore, for some reason. Now it was comforting and warm...a feeling that went away a long time ago. He felt his body melt into hers, and she held him close with her good arm, all the pain of her shoulder melting away.

"_I_ love you, Moritz." She said softly after a period of silence. "_I_ would grieve if you died. And I know Melchior would too; he cares about you, more than you know. So please...please don't die." He looked up at her. Her hazel eyes were soft and kind, like his mother's, and he noticed the smoothness of her skin, the heart shape of her face. Her smile. She was beautiful. As he reached up to see if her skin really was that smooth, Ilse let out a small sigh and fell backwards. Moritz gasped and caught her by the small of her back. Her shoulder. He'd forgotten her wound, the wound he caused. It had begun to clot.

"Stay with me, Ilse!" he said steadily. He reached his arms underneath her and scooped her up as he got to his feet. He wobbled a little, like they'd been kneeling together for a hundred years. "You're going to be okay...!" Ilse was surprisingly light for her age, probably because she'd dropped weight since she ran away from home. Then it hit him; he couldn't take her home. Where could he take her?

"Priapia..." Ilse said hoarsely. Moritz looked down at her. She was pale in the face, but her eyes were glistening with new tears of pain. "The artist's colony...look for Gustave Baum...this is his shirt, anyway." Moritz was already off at a run towards Priapia before she even mentioned Gustave Baum. He had passed it many times before, and the only two thoughts running through his head were if Ilse was going to be alright, and what Gustave Baum would say when he saw his girlfriend and his bloody shirt.


	3. Ch 3 Priapia

It wasn't difficult to track down Gustave. All Moritz had to do was run to the middle of Priapia and ask the nearest beggar. The ramshackle house stood out from the rest with oil lamps hanging all around the door, which was painted green. A brownish-white tarp could be seen on the roof. Ilse was getting heavier and heavier the more Moritz walked, but finally he reached the door and kicked it three times.

"God dammit, I'm busy!" An angry voice shouted from inside the house. The door suddenly swung open. "If you want ether, I'd go ask Ludwig..!" he stopped as he saw Ilse in Moritz' arms.

"Hello, Gustave." Ilse said weakly, her face now stark white and her breathing heavy.

"Ilse?" he gasped, "Oh dear Lord, come in, come in!" Gustave quickly ushered Moritz inside, where a smoldering fire pit washed him with a wave of heat. "Here, lay her here..." Gustave said quickly, pushing away a big mound of crinkled-up drawing paper to reveal a small brown sofa. Moritz gently laid Ilse down, propping her head up with a nearby pillow. Gustave appeared with a white cloth and a bowl of water. He was a tall, thin man with a scruffy blond beard that matched his feathery tufts of hair. He couldn't be under 50, but he certainly wasn't elderly; he had a youthful movement about him.

"Gustave!" a boy's voice called from the winding staircase in the corner, "Gustave, what is it?"

"Later!" Gustave called, "This is important!" He sat down on the couch next to Ilse and began unbuttoning her shirt. Moritz muffled a yelp of objection; it was just to fix her shoulder, it was just to fix her shoulder, just to fix her shoulder—his thoughts ground to a halt as Gustave lifted the white folds off her body. The dried blood running down her body and the dark red mass on her shoulder did not detract from her beauty. She was slim and petite, with smooth curves and...no underwear. He saw them.

"It's nothing he hasn't seen before," Ilse muttered upon hearing Moritz squawk, "Relax." Relax. RELAX?! He was looking at a naked girl and she's just telling him to relax?! Gustave had chuckled lightly at this and pulled a small throw from the floor and laid it over Ilse's breasts and...other parts.

"Let's respect the boy's modesty, girlie." Gustave said warmly. His voice was low and comforting, with a hint of gravel in his throat. "He's clearly not as used to your baby maker as I am."

Baby maker?

BABY MAKER?! Luckily Melchior had touched on that subject in his essay too, but honestly, actually _calling_ it that? It sounded so derogatory he was almost offended. And now the idea seemed even more ghastly. It looked so....small. How could a baby...? He felt a gag sneak up his throat, quickly blocking it.

"I just have the target, you've got the gun." Ilse said flirtatiously. Moritz turned away to keep the distorted, you-really-just-said-that look on his face hidden. She really just said that. ILSE just said that.

"So what happened to your shoulder, dear?" Gustave asked concernedly, "Did you fall on something? That gash couldn't have come from anything but a foreign object." Ilse glanced at Moritz, who had turned back to see her reaction. She looked at him for a little bit, but the guilt was piercing.

"I...I shot her. By mistake." Moritz said quietly. "She was trying to...stop me." Gustave's eyes grew wide and his mouth formed a little O. Then he smiled a little as Moritz averted his gaze from his.

"Well, she succeeded, clearly." he said. "Don't be sad, boy. Everyone has been at life's lowest ebb, but few manage to return. Good girl, Ilse, for creating another survivor." Ilse grinned as he tied the dampened cloth to her shoulder with a pair of pantyhose. "Luckily, it did nothing more than clip it. It should be closed up in a few days, but I don't recommend any large movements of this arm." Ilse nodded and relaxed into the sofa, motioning for Moritz to come join her. He awkwardly sat down beside her as Gustave stood up. "I'll get some hot drinks for you two." he said, "I should probably tell him I will be delayed..." But he didn't need to; he heard angry stomping down the spiral staircase.

"What is taking so long?" the boy's voice rang, moody and irritable. "It's gone down already, and it's gonna take longer to get it back up!" Moritz nearly screamed out loud at the sight of the boy on the stairs.


	4. Ch 4 Skim Off The Cream

"_H_-_Hanschen_?!" Moritz stammered faintly. The tall, burly blond stared at Moritz blankly for a second, before breaking into a queer smile. He leaned against the stair rail and folded his arms. It was at this point that Moritz saw that Hanschen was wearing nothing but a bed-sheet wrapped around his torso.

"Well, what do you know?" Hanschen said condescendingly. "I never thought you would turn up in Priapia, Herr Stiefel. I heard you failed the final exams. Did you get thrown out of your house?"

"That's...that's none of your business!" Moritz squawked, trying to sound angry and hiding his shame. He stood up boldly. "If this is where the runaways go, then what are YOU doing here?"

"He's Gustave's male lover." Ilse said from behind him. "He's been sneaking out for the past two weeks to be his model and do some late-night fucking." Ilse grinned slyly at Hanschen from the sofa.

"Pot calling the kettle black, you little wood nymph." Hanschen replied coolly. "Where's Gustave? Don't tell me he left me out to dry to entertain you, Herr Stiefel." Then he noticed the reddish makeshift bandage on Ilse. "And what happened to your shoulder?" Ilse didn't answer.

"Who wants honey with their tea?" Gustave's head popped out of the small door to the kitchen, which was no bigger than a good-sized cupboard. "I have sugar now, too."

"Sugar and honey, please." Ilse said. Moritz shook his head politely.

"Milk, and a lot of it." Hanschen said coyly. "Make up for what could've been."

"Ugggggggghh!" Moritz gagged uncontrollably. "How can you all be so...so...SO...!"

"Free?" Hanschen said, still completely calm. "Coarse? Vulgar? Everything you aren't?"

"Leave him alone, Hansy," Ilse said, "You're always so mean!" Hanschen stuck his tongue out at her and took a seat in a nearby chair. Moritz kept his head down as Hanschen adjusted the bed sheet.

"By all means, look, Herr Stiefel." Hanschen said, grinning. "Guarantee you've never seen anything like it." Moritz covered his face and moaned into his hands, fighting not to vomit.

"Leave the boy alone, Hansy." Gustave said as he entered with a plate of mugs. "He's clearly still learning the heavy concept of freedom of speech." He handed Moritz his mug first, then Ilse, then Hanschen. Hanschen grabbed Gustave's crotch as he took the mug, grinning evilly.

"Freedom of speech?" Moritz asked quietly. He couldn't help but watch their sexual interaction.

"You may not know it...Moritz was your name?" Gustave said. Moritz nodded. "You may not know it Moritz, but you actually can say and do whatever you please. It's our right as citizens of Germany. It's the society around us that constricts us and prevents us from doing so with demanding voices and blows from the Bible. That's why places like Priapia and Worpswede have been springing up all over Germany. The people who understand that society is their only constraint and wish to break free of it...that is where they go. Worpswede, Dachau, Schwann...and now Priapia." Moritz had been listening intently, taking in every word, when suddenly Hanschen stood up and began to gather his clothes, oddly enough strewn all up and down the spiral staircase.

"What's the matter, Hansy?" Ilse asked.

"I can see the sky lightening from the skylight." Hanschen said quickly, throwing on his shirt. "I need to get home before my parents wake up." He tugged on his shoes as he made a dash for his school jacket on the top stair. Moritz looked up to see a massive hole in the low ceiling, covered with what looked like broken stained-glass. The sky was no longer a cold black, but now a dark, dingy gray color.

"Wait...if you want to break from society," Moritz asked slowly, "Then why do you go home?"

"By day, I conform to society and make a pleasant name for myself." Hanschen replied, grabbing Gustave for a fleeting tongue-kiss that made Moritz want to have a seizure. "And by night, I'm a liberated prowler; a pussycat, if you will." he finished, licking his lips. "Even a night-prowling wildcat wants a warm home to return to." He grabbed Gustave's crotch one last time and bolted for the door.

"Wait...! Hanschen?" Moritz said quickly. Hanschen stopped and turned around impatiently. "Will you...? Will you see if my parents...and Melchi...?" Hanschen held up his hand to stop him, smiled at him from over his shoulder, and left.


	5. Ch 5 Pirates

The house was oddly quiet without Hanschen stirring up scandal. Gustave began rummaging around, deciding to go to his job as a store-owner's assistant early since it was almost dawn anyway.

"You can stay as long as you like, Herr Stiefel." Gustave said kindly, "Take good care of my little wood nymph while I'm gone. I shall be back around dinner time, and there's food in the kitchen."

"Thank you, sir." Moritz said, bowing his head politely. Gustave chuckled and headed out the door. As the door closed behind him, an unsettling silence blanketed the house. Moritz watched the sky turn from dull gray, to a mute pink with yellowish undertones, and finally to pale blue.

"Ilse, I wanted to—" before he could finish, he saw that Ilse had fallen asleep. "...Oh." She looked so peaceful, and the color had returned to her face. Apart from that weird jumble of cloth and pantyhose on her shoulder, she looked pure and beautiful with the morning sun shining on her. His stomach growled; the tea obviously hadn't tided him over. As he meandered into the cramped kitchenette, he felt a pang of sadness. Right about now, he'd be waking up to his mother cooking Sunday breakfast, before church. He leaned against the door frame and felt a lump forming in his throat. He felt so alone and homesick, but he couldn't go home. His father had thrown him out by the scruff of his collar. The last words he said to him were "Get out! I'd rather you were dead than a failing... delinquent!!" He sank down to the floor, burying his head in his arms. Delinquent. He hated that word. His father had always told him never to cry, never show signs of weakness. Weakness is a sign of failure. But now, with his father out of the picture, he felt weaker than he ever felt before. _Am I a failure?_ Moritz thought. _I don't have a home anymore, where can I go? I can't stay here forever, can I?_ He glanced over at Ilse, still sleeping. This must have been how Ilse felt when she got thrown out. He never knew why Ilse got thrown out; she was always a good girl. A creative, adventurous and outgoing girl, but a good girl nonetheless. He never did like her stepfather though. He looked at Ilse funny, and he never allowed the boys in the house when they came over to play. Maybe it was better off that Ilse left. _But what about me?_ He thought. _I can't survive out here like she can, I don't know what to do!_ He let himself cry a little, because it was starting to hurt. He fought not to let it all rush out, just a little bit.

"Moritz?" He jerked his head up to see Ilse's bright hazel eyes wide open and staring at him. He quickly wiped away his tears with his hand and stood up. "Moritz, what's wrong? Where's Gustave?"

"He left. For work." he replied. "I was just going to get something to eat...are you hungry?"

"No, thanks." She replied. "There should be some bread and milk in the cupboard under the window." She was right, though the bread was hard as a rock. He stumbled over the easels and piles of paper back to the sofa and sat next to Ilse. She took the cup of milk he poured for her. "Moritz...are you alright?" she asked gently. "This is a lot for anyone to take in one night, and you've been really...stoic."

"Do you want me to cry?" Moritz snapped, not meaning it. "Do you want me to burst into tears and admit that I'm weak and can't survive on my own? That I don't need my father, or Melchi, or...anybody?!" Ilse gaped at him, shocked. "I wanted to end it...make it painless...not that it's not painful now, just..." He looked up at her, his chocolate brown eyes meeting hers. "Then you came."

"I'm not sorry." Ilse said bravely, hiding the emotion in her voice. "I don't want you to die. You're...you're all I have left in the world now, Moritz. You're my only friend in the whole world."

"Gustave is a good friend." Moritz said. "You told me you've spent this whole week with him."

"He's a good caretaker. He's good at taking care of me, making me feel...wanted." she lowered her voice on the last word. "But he doesn't really talk to me...he doesn't really know me like you do. And when he's drunk...he gets really scary." Ilse shuddered a little. "He could've killed me yesterday. He could've slipped, or twitched, and I'd be dead. Then...then you would be dead..." Ilse buried her face in the pillow, her sobs making her body heave. Moritz never felt like a horrible person until now. He was the worst person in the world, putting someone as kind and beautiful as Ilse through so much pain.

"Please don't cry, Ilse." He said softly, putting his hand on hers. "I'll never make you cry again."

"Promise?" Ilse whispered, wiping her face with her sleeve. "Do you promise, Moritz?" Moritz saw a glimmer of the little girl he used to play with in her pleading face. It made him happy, a little.

"Yes, Ilse. I promise." he said finally. "You're my only friend now, too. I can never go home, and I don't have anyone to turn to but you. We'll protect each other, like we did when we played pirates." Ilse giggled at the memory, and seeing her face light up made Moritz feel warm inside, for the first time in what seemed like a hundred years. Suddenly, she threw her arms around his neck, and he stiffened.

"Thank you, Moritz." she whispered in his ear, her breath warm against his neck. "We'll play pirates again...only for real. We're real pirates now, with no home and no future planned ahead, nothing to hold us back. We'll be free, like pirates..." Without warning, she began to softly kiss his neck and ear. Every word of Melchior's essay suddenly flooded into Moritz's head like a tidal wave.

_The action of having sexual intercourse is conceived by the man's genitalia penetrating the women's genitalia and emitting semen through ejaculation into her vagina. This process is achieved by a man reaching a state of erectness in his penis brought on by increasing his carnal pleasure, usually done so by the woman..._

Oh, hell. All of the old feelings and disturbing images in his head from school, the essay and his own imagination filled his mind to the brink. Only now, the legs in sky-blue stocking had a body...and a face.

"Ilse—!" He choked before skittering away from her warm embrace like a ferret. A large part of him didn't want to, but something even more powerful drove him away, off the couch and on the floor.

"What's wrong?" Ilse asked, a worried look in her eye. "Did I do something wrong? Is it me?" She blushed heavily and covered her face with the pillow. "I'm so sorry Moritz, I didn't think about..."

"It's not your fault, it's just biology..." Moritz muttered, quoting what Melchior told him the first time he got hard in the classroom. "I mean...I mean...it's my fault Ilse, I'm just not...I mean, I can't..."

"You didn't want to last night, either." She moaned from the pillow. "You must think I'm such a whore!" Old, painful feelings bubbled up in Ilse's stomach; the feeling of being unwanted, unloved...

"No, that's not true!" Moritz exclaimed, horrified at what he'd done. He scrambled back on the couch and put his hands firmly on Ilse's shoulders. "You're not a whore, Ilse. I could never, ever call you a whore. You're light and airy and beautiful..." Ilse lowered the pillow, her eyes glittering and her cheeks flushed pink. Nobody had ever called her beautiful outside of a bed. Not even her stepfather. "It's my fault, Ilse." Moritz said, averting his eyes in shame. "I'm just...this is all...all this...and I'm..."

"Moritz." Ilse's voice sounded so soft, so kind. He looked up at her, and she was not judging him with her eyes like she did only hours before. Her eyes were sad, but understanding. "Moritz, what are you scared of?" She placed her hand on his cheek; it felt warm and comforting against his skin.

"I don't even know anymore." he said, monotone. "Everything just changed so quickly. One day we're playing pirates and Indians, and everything was so easy. Then one day your stepfather pulls you away and I never see you again. Then Wendla's mother pulled her away too. Then I started having dreams... weird dreams, but Melchi said they were normal. So I asked my father about them...and he smacked me. Told me never to talk to him about 'that stuff' again." Ilse's eyes grew rounder and rounder as she listened. "My mother would just blush and go back to her cooking, or cleaning. She never spoke about it, ever. It was like I was a criminal they were forced to take in. Then my grades started slipping and Father got mad at me for that too. Called me a failure." He remembered the day he snuck into the principal's office. He smirked a little, remembering how mad Melchior was at him for being so reckless. Ilse's fingertips stroked down his cheek and brushed away the tears that had leaked down his face.

"Everything is going to change...everything _has_ changed, Moritz." she finally said, after a long, but comforting silence. "But this time, you won't be alone. I'll be here, to help you...in any way I can." Those small words were the most comforting, warm words Moritz ever heard. He leaned towards Ilse to rest his head on her shoulder, a huge weight lifted off him. For the first time, everything was all right.


	6. Ch 6 Shadow Passed

"My **_funeral _**is tomorrow?!" Moritz cried in shock. Hanschen just shook his head in disgust. "My parents must think I'm dead...but I'm not dead!" He frantically stood up and grabbed his school jacket. "I need to tell them I'm alive...I need to tell them I'm okay!" He felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Herr Stiefel, you really are an idiot." Hanschen said gravely, his grip tightening before thrusting Moritz backwards. "The priest administered the news at mass, but I took the liberty of sneaking back into the church to hear him talking to your parents. Your father showed him a little black pistol, saying you had shot yourself and they would be bringing the coffin to the church tomorrow...sealed."

"An empty coffin." Gustave said, massaging his temple. "It seems your parents would rather have a dead son than a runaway son." Ilse covered her mouth with her hand in shock. Moritz felt a horrible lurching feeling in his stomach. That couldn't be true. They'd look for him...wouldn't they?

"W-w-what did my mother say?" He croaked hopefully Surely, his mother would think...

"Not a word." Hanschen replied. "She was crying the entire service, and the talk with the priest. She never uttered a sound. And..." Hanschen sighed, almost pitying. "She had purple marks on her face. I recognized them because Martha has the same marks on her arms. Bruises." Moritz felt the world tilt. The cruelty. His father hated him so much he would beat his mother into agreeing that their own son was dead? It was unfathomable. Ilse got up from the chair and tentatively placed her hand on Moritz's back. He was stiff, and he shook her off angrily. She recoiled, unable to find anything to say to him.

"They...they can't do that." Moritz said slowly, his voice quivering with sadness and anger. "They can't bury an empty coffin. That's...that's heinous!" He spat out the last word with bitterness.

"It's everywhere." Gustave said firmly, his voice gruff. "Less than half of the little tombs in the church cemetery are full of sandbags. It rids the parents of any responsibility over their lost child. Johan Farandorf used to be the one who took in the 'dead' runaways. They called him the Grim Reaper."

"Then he must be a necrophiliac." Ilse muttered under her breath. Gustave quickly shushed her.

"That's disgusting!" Moritz yelled. He grabbed his head and clenched his hair in rage.

"That's happening." Hanschen said stoically. "You asked me to keep you updated, and I did."

"But...but what about Melchi?" Moritz said desperately. "You can't tell me Melchi believes..."

"Herr Gabor was just as devastated as everyone else in the church. He didn't cry, but after mass I heard him vomit behind the church and scream obscenities that I won't repeat. It didn't feel appropriate to interrupt him. Frau Bergman cried when the other girls didn't. She wants to tell you, Ilse." Ilse clasped her hand to heart. God bless Wendla; her innocent naivety was a shine of light in Ilse's world.

"Hansy, please tell Wendla that the news has reached me." she said quietly.

"What am I, the messenger?" Hanschen scoffed. "_You're_ not buried at the church,_ you_ tell her."

"WILL ANY OF YOU TAKE THIS SERIOUSLY?!" Moritz screamed so loud that even Hanschen gawked at him silently. "I am DEAD to my family! My father has KILLED me so he doesn't have a FAILURE for a SON!!" He kicked the chair in front him so hard that it flew across the room and clattered to the floor amid a pile of paper. He dropped to his knees and pounded the floor with his fists, seeing his father's face in the hardwood paneling. "You...you..." he pounded the wood harder, wishing more and more that it was his father's face. "You...you heartless...evil...cruel...son of...SON OF A BITCH!! FUCK YOU!! Fuck you..." He voice broke as he ran out of breath, slumped to the floor and curled into a ball, shaking. Ilse rushed to his side and threw her arms around his shivering form.

"Pull yourself together, Herr Stiefel," Gustave said, firm but with a touch of sympathy. He knelt on Moritz's other side and grasped his shoulders, lifting him off the floor to look into his eyes. "You need to listen, and you need to listen carefully to what I say. They are burying you tomorrow, so after tomorrow you can never return to your town ever again. Ever. If someone sees you, the disruption you will cause will be catastrophic. The clergy will be uprooted and the people will be in disarray. You may even actually get killed. So hear me when I say this... as of tomorrow morning, Moritz Stiefel is dead."


	7. Ch 7 The Fool it Called A Home

Ilse went with Hanschen to the funeral the next day. Moritz stayed with Gustave and went with him to work, to start earning money. Ilse wore her pretty green dress and brought a bundle of freesias to put on the empty coffin. She felt very uncomfortable seeing everyone around her crying and feeling sad.

"Frown, damn it." Hanschen muttered under his breath. "You look bored, people will think you're rude." But Ilse WAS bored. This was a pointless gathering; everything about it was pointless, but the only ones who knew were her, Hanschen and Moritz's parents. She saw Wendla come in with her family and her heart swelled. Wendla's eyes lit up as she saw Ilse running towards her, and hugged her.

"Oh, Ilse!" Wendla said, her voice lacking its usual pep. "It's wonderful to see you...but oh, it's so terrible! Poor Moritz!" She covered her face with her hands and wept. Ilse patted her back gently.

"It's alright, Wendy." Ilse whispered. She looked up to see Wendla's mother glaring daggers at her. She sent them right back at her before looking away. "I'm sure Moritz is in a better place now."

"Oh, I know he is!" Wendla said huskily. "Any place is better than with his horrible father!"

"Oh, Wendla!" Her mother scolded. "Don't say cruel things about Herr Stiefel!"

"But he is horrible, Mama!" Wendla retaliated, "Martha told me he threw Moritz out on the streets, just because he failed his exams, and that's why he shot himself! It's his father's fault!"

"Maybe so, but do not say such things in his presence." her mother said stonily. "We are here to mourn and pay respect. They may have had trouble, but the Stiefels still have lost their only child."

"_Bullshit_." Ilse wanted to say, but bit her tongue. She gave Wendla a freesia to place in the grave and then asked, "Where's Melchior Gabor?" Wendla looked down at the mention of Melchior's name.

"He...he's coming with his family. They were right behind us." Wendla muttered, still looking down. Ilse could tell something was wrong. She pulled Wendla away where no one could overhear.

"Wendy, what's wrong?" Ilse asked. "Did something happen to him?" Wendla shook her head.

"No...something happened to me." she replied faintly. "I think I did a bad thing...but I don't..."

"What, Wendy?" Ilse said urgently. Oh Lord, not Wendla. Anybody but innocent Wendla...

"Melchior and I...in the hayloft of the abandoned barn...on the night Moritz died...I don't really know if it was a good thing, because it hurt...but...I let him do it. I wanted him to. I let him love me." Oh, good LORD. Wendla and Melchior? Could the memories of her childhood be ravaged any worse?

"That's...that's wonderful, Wendla." Ilse finally choked out. "Do you love him?"

"Oh, yes!" Wendla said, breaking into a smile. "Yes I do, Ilse...I want to become his wife." Ilse remember when she thought that same thing, in the hayloft of the abandoned barn, exactly a year ago.

"That's wonderful, Wendy." Ilse muttered, trying to hide her scorn. "I bet you'll both be happy."

"Oh, I hope so too!" Wendla saw her mother gesturing to join her in the pew. "I have to go, Ilse. It was so wonderful to see you! I hope I see you again soon!" She gave Ilse a quick hug before running to join her mother. Ilse watched her go, clenching her fist. _Melchior, you're a raging dickhead._ Then she saw him, trailing behind his parents. Melchior Gabor. He hadn't changed much since the last time she saw him; he was still just a handsome, but today his face was pale and his eyes were hollow, empty husks of what she remembered; they used to be big, sparkling, taking in everything around him. It took awhile for him to see her, even though she was standing in front of him for a few minutes.

"Ilse?" he said, his voice monotone and dull. She just stood there, not moving. Suddenly he lurched forward and thrust his arms around her. His body was cold and hard, like hugging a statue. "Oh Ilse, it's so good to see you again. I've missed you." His greeting was unexpected, and it bothered her.

"Let go." She said quietly. He did. "I didn't want to see you again, Melchior." she said stonily.

"What's happened to us, Ilse?" Melchior moaned. She could see that the whites of his eyes were red and swollen. "Moritz was my best friend, and you and Wendla were my friends..."

"Until I became your whore." Ilse said bitterly. "And now you've made Wendla one, too."

"I love Wendla." Melchior snapped angrily, taking Ilse aback. "I didn't love you...and I'm sorry."

* * *

The sermon was boring. The priest didn't even seem interested, he even looked uncomfortable, like what he was saying was all a horrible lie. What irony. Ilse glanced around the church to find Hanschen. He was sitting in the way back, talking with a short, skinny little boy with dark hair and large eyes. _Ernst, I think. _They were having what looked like an intimate conversation. Oh great, not again. She'll have to scold him afterwards. Melchior was sitting with his mother, who had her arm around him. Frau Gabor was a nice lady; she had provided Ilse with some money after her stepfather threw her out. Wendla was a few pews in front of him, and Melchior kept stealing glances at her. Frau Bergman was stiff as a board and just as unfeeling throughout the whole sermon. Hard to believe someone could live their entire life like that; no wonder Wendla seemed so stupid for her age. The priest was wrapping up.

"...and therefore God will smile down on the Stiefel family and lift their grief, for Christ is forgiving, and will cleanse Moritz's spirit and welcome him into the Kingdom of Heaven for eternity. Everyone, please proceed in a quiet and orderly fashion to the cemetery out back, where the burial will commence. Does anyone have any parting words?" There was a stark silence, then a rustling of clothing. Ilse nearly fainted as Melchior stood up, by himself. His mother looked at him in surprise.

"I have something to say, Father." Melchior said, his voice sharp and hard. "I would just like to express my personal condolences to Herr and Frau Stiefel, for this must be the hardest day of your lives. All the things you never did with your son, now they'll never happen. All the things you never said, never shared, never mended..." Melchior was provoking Herr Stiefel, Ilse could see that. Herr Stiefel's face was contorting and red, while Frau Stiefel's face was twisting up in pain and tears. "All those things meant for the future, are now left behind." Melchior finished, his tone equivalent to throwing a rock at the Stiefels. Even Ilse felt bad for Frau Stiefel, who had burst into tears. Herr Stiefel, on the other hand, was glaring at Melchior so hard that Melchior's legs started to quiver. Ilse stood up quickly.

"That's enough, Herr Gabor," Ilse said pleadingly, "Please." Melchior turned to stare at her, but once his eyes met hers, he deflated and sat down in defeat. Ilse watched him slump forward, covering his head with his arms, his body rocking back and forth. His mother wrapped her arms around him. Everyone got up and commenced with the burial. In the crowd of mourners, Ilse found Hanschen.

"Don't tell me you're going to make that other boy your bitch too." she muttered.

"Ernst is completely unaware of my sexual conquests." he replied shortly. "I find his innocence rather charming...I do not wish to break him of it." He flashed a sick grin before departing in the crowd. She shuddered; what a sicko. She walked over to the burial plot, where the empty coffin lay. She felt repulsed just looking at it. Herr Stiefel was standing beside it while people passed on the other side, staring straight ahead. As she got in line to place her freesias on the coffin, she felt ridiculous. How she wanted to shout _'These horrible people are burying an empty tomb, Moritz is alive!_' but she did not. Wendla had gotten in line way before her, and she watched her drop the freesia she gave her on the coffin, before glancing up at Herr Stiefel. Suddenly she clutched her stomach and ran off.

"Wendla, what's wrong?" her mother called as she followed her behind the church. Ilse heard horrible retching noises. Vomiting. Her stomach dropped. Wendla was ill? Oh no, oh no, not that...

"Wendla?" she heard Melchior say behind her as her mother walked Wendla back towards home. "Ilse, what's wrong? Is she sick?" Ilse fought not to give a blunt answer, and simply shrugged. "I wanted to tell her something..." he said, trailing off. "Will you tell her for me, Ilse?"

"What?" she said, not meaning to sound so harsh. She had reached the empty, foreboding coffin.

"Tell her I'm sorry...if I hurt her...and that I love her. I want to build a new world with her." Ilse felt her heart break and her eyes well as she dropped her bouquet on the coffin, not even looking up.

"Melchior, there's something—" she turned around, but she stopped immediately. Behind Melchior was Frau Knuppeldick and Herr Sonnenstich, the board heads of the boy's schoolhouse.

"Melchior Gabor." They said harshly, making Melchior freeze where he stood. "Come with us."


	8. Ch 8 All The Things His Mama Did

"...and I never got to tell him." Ilse finished. "Sonnenstich pulled him away and they left the church. I think Melchior's in some kind of trouble." Moritz just sat there on the sofa, holding his head.

"And Wendla's sick, and Hanschen flirted with Ernst?" Moritz said weakly. "Is the whole town going to Hell?" Ilse suppressed a giggle and sat down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Your father cried when they buried you." she said, trying to be comforting. "He nearly had a breakdown, tears and everything. He must feel really guilty after all." Moritz looked up at this.

"Really?" he said hopefully. "What about my mother?"

"She was really upset the entire time. She seemed always on the verge of saying something, but your father...kept a tight grip on her arm. I think she misses you a great deal, Moritz."

"I miss her, too." He said softly. His eyes stared off out the window. "I really, really miss her."

"Moritz?" He glanced at Ilse, his eyes meeting hers. "Moritz, do you...do you still...love them?" Moritz blinked, as if the question had never crossed his mind, since the night his life changed forever.

"Well...I mean, of course I still _love_ them...I mean, they're my _parents_, but...well..." He shrugged his shoulders and his face twisted up as if he was contemplating Virgil or trying to solve an equation. "I don't really know about my father. I mean, he's still my father, but...I don't think I can face him ever again. But...my mother..." He shook his head, his mop of curls bouncing. "I really want to see her." Ilse felt a pang of hurt in her chest. Her mother had died before her stepfather threw her out; there was nobody back home that she wanted to see. Maybe helping Moritz see his mother was a good thing.

"Absolutely not." Gustave's voice floated from the kitchenette, mixed with the smell of cabbage soup. "You can't risk getting caught, and your own mother might even send you—" He was cut off by a nasty sound invoked by Hanschen, who was in the kitchen with him, following a series of "other" sounds that made even Ilse shudder along with Moritz, though her eye didn't twitch like his was doing.

"But I don't think my own mother would send me away to a reformatory or anything...my father yes, but not my mother. Hanschen, you said my mother was beaten to keep quiet about me, right?"

"Mm-hmm." Hanschen replied thickly, before delving into another loud throng of passion.

"We're eating in there, you perverts!" Ilse said loudly. She turned back to Moritz, her eyes alight with an idea. "Moritz, maybe we can sneak you into town at night for a secret meeting with your mom."

"Really? How?" Moritz said, some of that shine rejuvenating in his long-dull brown eyes. Ilse clenched her jaw in thought, cupping her chin in her palm. She suddenly pounded her fist into her hand.

"We can pretend to be the priest!" She said. "Your mother must confess a lot since your father makes her be quiet. We can write her as the priest to come to the church some time a night, alone, and then instead of the priest, you'll be there!" Moritz looked a little aghast at pretending to be the priest, but he would do anything to see his mother one last time. He finally nodded his head and smiled at her.

"I'll do it, but just to see my mother." He said quietly. Ilse grinned and got up in a hustle.

"Gotta find a clean sheet of paper." She said hurriedly. "She can get it in two days if we get —"

"**You're DUMPING me?!**" Hanschen's voice thundered from the kitchenette, making the windows shudder. Ilse froze in place and Moritz toppled off the sofa in fright.

"How can I dump you?? We were never together!!" Gustave shouted back. "I TOLD you from the beginning that you were just my temporary model until I found a more suitable one. And I found him; his name is Franz, and he's just the boy I need to complete my—"

"I don't care what his name is!" Hanschen cried, and Moritz was surprised to hear tears in his voice. "You said I was special! You said there was nobody else like me! And you REPLACE me?!"

"You ARE special, Hanschen." Gustave said wearily, clearly having said this dozens of times, "You're just not special to ME. I need a different kind of boy for my work, a smaller boy with darker hair...what are you doing with the soup?" CRASH! SPLASH! "**YEOW, THAT'S REALLY HOT!!!**"

"There goes dinner." Ilse mumbled. "Come on Moritz, I know where we can get some food."


	9. Ch 9 Haven't You Heard

"Done!" Ilse said triumphantly, pounding the nib pen on to the table. Moritz leaned over her shoulder to read: _My dear Frau Stiefel, I sensed that you wanted to say a lot more than you did during the funeral of your son. If you desire, please join me for a private confession after sundown this Sunday. No one else will be attending. Do not bring Herr Stiefel. God be with you. Sincerely, Pastor Kahlbauch._

"You've got good penmanship, Ilse." he said sheepishly. She grinned; her mother taught her calligraphy for years, and was quite proud of it. "Now can we leave?" he asked. At least at Gustave's he felt safe, though not very comfortable. In Johan Farandorf's however, he was even more uncomfortable and scared for his life. Johan was a very scary-looking man, with a pointed black goatee and thin, skeletal features. He was thankful that Johan gave them some stale soup, but Thank God he was in the middle of a sculpture so he didn't bother them. Ilse sighed and sealed the letter in the envelope.

"Give me your address, then we can leave." she said. He dictated his address too quickly the first time, but finally after 3 tries they were out the door and into the cold night air. "I'll drop it off at the post." she said, going a little ways ahead. "Remember, nobody can see you." He nodded at watched her dart off like a deer in the direction of the house where mail was delivered. Following her, he found a small alley between the butcher's and the postal house, and took refuge from the oil lamps overhead. He peeked out to watch Ilse ring the bell in front of the postal house. He couldn't help but notice the pretty green dress she was wearing, and how different she looked compared to that night in Gustave's shirt... a wave of melancholy washed over him as his mind drifted back to that horrible night. He had been putting it out of his mind since Ilse's shoulder healed and the whole business with the funeral came up. He couldn't even conceive of his state of mind on that night; crazy and upset, willing to end his own life selfishly without thinking about the consequences. If it hadn't been for Ilse, none of this would be happening. Maybe this wasn't the greatest life, and it was most certainly not a life he had ever imagined for himself. But, for the first time, he felt genuinely excited about living. And it was all thanks to Ilse.

_Ilse..._

Another wave of melancholy settled on him, but this one was rather different. It had been plaguing his mind for awhile now, mostly at night when he lay awake on Gustave's sofa, looking up at the stars through the skylight. The old, unsettling feelings he used to discuss with Melchior were resurfacing, but they weren't the same, faceless, surreal fantasies his imagination tortured him with. No, these new visions and fantasies all had the same face, same body, same...everything. They all involved Ilse. That one morning after, when Ilse smiled at him and held him close...he had pulled away from her, twice in a matter of hours, and she still stayed by his side. To comfort him. He felt an odd tugging in his heart, a longing for that feeling Ilse gave him that day. That feeling that made his heart pound and his blood rush; he used to be terrified of that feeling, but since being with Ilse...he wanted it, now more than ever.

"Hey, there you are!" He nearly jumped out of his skin at Ilse's call. "You're really good at standing still, Moritz Stiefel!" Ilse giggled as she joined him in the dark. "That'll come in handy now!"

"Y-yeah..." he stuttered. He couldn't help but be nervous, as if Ilse could read his thoughts.

"What's wrong? Did someone see you?" Ilse asked, hearing his nervousness.

"No, no one saw me...I just..." He scratched the back of his head, unable to find words to describe the hurricane of emotions going on under his skin. Ilse however, could see right through him. She smiled at him; she had seen this confused, embarrassed look on many a boy's face, but none of them were as adorable as Moritz. She wanted to say something to comfort him, but what could she say?

"Come on, let's go; hopefully Hanschen has stormed off by now." she said finally, disappointed. Moritz looked a little disappointed as well, but nodded and followed her without a word. _Why should he hesitate to say it?_ Ilse thought. _Why should I prevent him saying... what I would most want to hear?_


	10. Ch 10 How I Want You?

_Hanschen has left, gone to Hilda's to get the burns treated. Make yourselves comfortable. ~Gustave._ Ilse and Moritz couldn't help but laugh at the note stuck in the door. The laughter subsided as they walked into the empty house. Without Gustave and Hanschen, the place was oddly quiet and boring. And considerably bigger, too. Hanschen had clearly trashed the place before he left; it was a huge mess.

"Hey, Gustave probably won't be back till morning." Ilse said excitedly. "Do you miss sleeping on a real bed?" Moritz perked up at this; he had grown to miss stretching his long legs out at night. "Come on, Gustave's bed is huge!" As she scrambled up the stairs in front of him, Moritz couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. Could he handle sleeping in a bed with Ilse? He could barely handle sleeping in the same room with her, him on the floor and her on the sofa. Countless times he had stirred awake to see her sleeping peacefully in the moonlight...he didn't sleep those nights, with his heart popping out of his chest and the parts between his legs feeling oddly tingly. But the prospect of having a full mattress under his back was too much for him to pass up. He had never been upstairs in Gustave's house before; Gustave was very protective of his studio, and Moritz never had reason to go up there. It wasn't all that special, but as he saw the door to the studio, a childish sense of curiosity overcame him.

"Why can't we ever see his paintings?" he asked as he walked into Gustave's bedroom.

"He thinks if anyone sees them before they are complete, they will be 'tainted'." Ilse's voice drifted from the closet. "You go ahead and change, I'm changing in here." The curiosity about the studio vanished. He'd always made sure he'd been ready for bed before Ilse and up before she was, so he wouldn't see her in her slip._ That_ was torture, because it clung to her body so perfectly and it was so white against her rosy skin, and her bare legs...oh hell. He proceeded to strip off his clothes as fast as possible, unaware that a bright hazel eye was peering through a hole in the door where the knob used to be. _Wow, he's not in shape but he's so slender..._Ilse thought mistily. _I love how pale and tall he looks with his shirt off._ Her heart palpitated in her chest. Why didn't she ever feel this way around Gustave, or Johan? She slowly swung the door open as Moritz sat down on the bed, facing the opposite wall. He jumped a little at the door shutting, but did not turn around. His ignorance was starting to bug her.

"Aren't you going to say goodnight to me?" Ilse said, irritation lacing her voice.

"Um...goodnight." he said nervously, slipping under the covers like a frightened kitten. She was fed up with this bullshit. She climbed over him, entrapping his slender body under her. She grabbed the covers and threw them off his face. He stared at her in her light pink slip, almost blending into her skin. "Um, Ilse..." he croaked, averting his eyes, "W-what...?" She was looming over him like a scary angel.

"Look at me, Moritz Stiefel." she said firmly, like a mother to a guilty child. His brown eyes immediately looked into her hazel ones. His pupils were quivering, fighting not to look at her breasts.

"I-I-Ilse..." he stuttered, "I-I-I-I can't do..." Before he could finish, Ilse had swooped down and stopped his mouth with hers. For a moment, their lips hung suspended in air. Moritz felt a warm, flooding feeling rush from his lips to his entire body, a feeling that he had been wanting for so long. But it started to flicker out like a candle. No, he couldn't lose it. He pressed his lips further into Ilse's, and suddenly her tongue was snaking around his mouth. It caught him off-guard, and his mouth clamped shut. "Ilse...I have no idea what I'm doing." he blurted out before he could stop himself. "I don't—"

"Moritz...shut up." From the look on his face, she was surprised he didn't say 'Yes ma'am'. "You don't know much, but I know a lot. You do what feels right, what you want to do...and I'll do the rest." She sat back, resting on his legs. She spread her arms out. "Come on, Moritz. Just don't think. What do you want to do to me?" He didn't need telling twice. Was that all that held him back, just permission? Well, he had it, and his twitching hands flew to her breasts. They were so soft and firm, and instantly they were pressed into his chest as she pounced on him like a cat. This time his tongue put up a good battle against hers, and he felt her small, smooth hands go up the back of his neck and into his hair. His own hands were around her waist, skimming her curves and down her back. And they were both gone.


	11. Ch 11 Consume My Mind

"Touch me... just like that." Ilse murmured, her hair framing her face like a beautiful picture frame. Moritz smiled down at her content, blissful expression as he ran his hands down her chest, spreading his fingertips as he reached her stomach. "And that...oh yeah..." she breathed as her hand lifted to stroke his cheek, "Now that's heaven." He lowered his head down to kiss her again, warm and sweet. Time had stopped for Moritz hours ago; it could be mid-day for all he cared. He never wanted this to end, this moment, holding Ilse...loving her, and her loving him. Everything felt too unreal. Now he knew what Melchior had been trying to say for so long. It was like a whole new world had sprung upon him, a new, wonderful, powerful world...Melchior's world, the world Melchi tried to show him.

"Now lower down." she said steadily, gazing up at him. He had been avoiding that area the entire time; it still seemed too foreign for him. What should he do down there? He couldn't see what was going on down there. He looked at her quizzically. She giggled a little at his adorable expression. "Just...go explore." she said between giggles. "There's nothing there that's going to bite you."

"Very funny." He muttered, stroking her waist and her breasts. Her slip now hung around her waist like a tight pink scarf. "I'm still new at all of this. What if I hurt you?" She laughed at this, and leaned up to give him a peck on the forehead, which of course lead to another open-mouth kiss.

"You won't hurt me...trust me." she said. "And you're pretty good for not knowing much...the best, actually. That thing you do with your hands feels incredible." Moritz blushed heavily.

"Well...alright." he took a deep breath and gently pulled the rest of the slip down her legs, letting it settle around her ankles. He looked. It was still small, like he remembered from the glimpse he got the night he ran away. It was pink and raw and...like nothing he had ever seen before.

"You look like you're staring at a pirate's treasure." Ilse grinned.

"It's better than pirate's treasure, it's _you_." he replied softly. He never felt more connected with Ilse than at this moment. The distant memories of them as children seemed to melt away like water.

"Come on...touch me." Ilse whispered, resting her head back into the pillow and closing her eyes. Hesitant, Moritz slowly let his hand slide down her stomach, between her legs...and he touched.

"Oh-h..." Ilse's whole body quivered and a moan escaped her lips. Moritz felt something inside him swell up as he saw her quiver like that. The hazy mist of passion around them increased tenfold. He touched again, and she moaned louder. He touched another place, and she moaned longer. The swelling inside him grew as he touched more and more, harder and harder. He wanted to do more, more to her. He leaned down and his other hand clasped her wrist, pinning it to the bed. Her legs had begun to curl upwards, towards her chest. He wanted to caress her legs, but that would mean he had to stop touching. Suddenly, Ilse gasped loudly and jerked her head up to get his attention. Her cheeks were flushed red.

"Stick. It. Now." She said, giving an order, not a request. Moritz blinked a couple times.

"Are you joking?" She just stared at him, breathing hard and her face flushed and scarlet. Suddenly she lunged forward, off the bed and grabbed his crotch. He didn't know whether to scream or to grab_ her_ crotch. She wretched his pants off, and to Moritz's horror he saw what he saw every morning for the last two years before he left for school. Was that what was swelling inside him? She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought him back down into the bed with her amidst the sheets.

"Love me, Moritz." she whispered in his ear, kissing his neck and earlobes. "Love me, love me!"

"Ah...ah..." He wanted to love her. He _did_ love her. He loved her more than anything else. Something was happening under the sheets. Now that his pants were out of the way, something new was happening. He was on top of her. She was grabbing, groping, leading. "Ah...ah, Ilse...Ilse, I...Ilse..."

"Oh my God, Moritz..." Ilse was gasping, her voice getting higher and higher, almost a squeal. "Oh my GOD..." He felt it happen. He felt it. He was inside. Inside her. A part of her. One with her.

"I love you, Ilse," he gasped, his voice dropping to a low pitch he never knew he had. "I love you, I love you, I love you!" Ilse was screaming now, screaming as their bodies melded together as one.


	12. Ch 12 All is Forgiven

Moritz didn't know what was scarier; waking up realizing he had sex with Ilse, or waking up to a gun-barrel pointed at his chest. He decided on the latter, since having sex with Ilse didn't almost kill him.

"What the HELL, Gustave?!" Ilse shouted, scrambling off of Moritz's chest and smacking the barrel away like a fly. Gustave was looming over them, staggering and swaying like a falling oak tree.

"My paintings?" he murmured. "Have you seen my paintings?" Ilse smelled heavy liquor.

"Oh great, he's drunk!" Ilse said angrily. She grabbed the gun out of Gustave's hand, which let go without a struggle. "We didn't see your goddamn paintings, Gustave! Sod off!" She shoved Gustave in the chest with one hand, and he went down like a toppled tower of building blocks. It wasn't until he hit the floor and began to snore until Moritz finally exhaled. He had never held his breath for that long.

"Oh are you alright, love?" Ilse asked, taking his chin in her hand and turning his face towards hers. "He did that to me once, too. Hanschen said so too. He doesn't mean anything by it, he's just—"

"Did you say love?" Moritz squeaked. She stopped mid-sentence and blinked, before smiling.

"Yes, because I love you." she answered. Moritz felt a sense of happiness he hadn't experienced since childhood. He wrapped her in his arms, and she kissed him gently on the forehead, eyes and nose.

"That night...the night you found me. You said you loved me then. Did you mean it then, too?" Ilse placed the tip of her tongue between her teeth, seemingly thinking about it.

"I think I did." she said thoughtfully. "You were my friend, and I loved the memories we had together. I did love you, but not in the way I love you now." She nuzzled his shoulder like a kitten. "Making love can change your relationship with someone, whether it's positive...or negative." Her eyes lowered a little. Moritz always knew intuitively that Ilse had slept with other men, like Gustave and Johan, but knowing that now made him shiver a little inside. He didn't like that; he didn't like sharing Ilse. Now that he had had her, he wanted to keep her forever.

"I believe I love you too, Ilse." Moritz said finally, with a rather firm tone in his voice. Ilse's eyes jumped back up to meet his, big and sparkling. A bit of anticipation framed her features. "I love you...and I don't want you to love anyone else." Ilse bit her lip and looked down for a minute.

"None of my lovers had any problems with sharing me." She said quietly. "I began to think that I wasn't valuable enough to be kept to one person." That angered Moritz. He clutched her shoulders hard.

"Ilse, you are...you are the most precious thing in my life." he said shakily. "I love you, Ilse. I don't want you to love anyone else...I want you to love me, and only me." Nobody had ever asked Ilse to make this big of a commitment. Ilse used to think it was because it wasn't worth it, but now she saw that it wasn't that...she was just waiting for someone like Moritz, someone she would willingly commit to. "I won't ever leave you, Ilse." Moritz said slowly. "I am yours forever. Will you...be mine? Forever?"

"Forever..." Ilse said hesitantly. This time Moritz took her chin in his hand, and tilted her head up to look at her. As soon as she looked into his innocent, pleading eyes, she saw the right answer.

"Yes..._yes_!" she said louder. She wanted to scream it, she wanted the whole world to hear her! Moritz's face lit up like the sun and they embraced tightly as the morning light poured through the window. Moritz was happy; he had never been this happy, not even when he was a child. His whole body was trembling with joy, and when he kissed her, he felt a spark of the passion from last night rekindle. He began to slide his hand down her back and tousle her hair with the other hand. "I've never been loved in the morning before." Ilse said, breathlessly and running her fingers through his hair. "You're the only one who's ever stayed with me until morning." He didn't know how that was possible.

"I'll stay until the forever." Moritz muttered, his grammar a little fuzzy from the hot haze filtering into his head. Ilse fully jumped him now, her legs snaking around his waist. "Are we really making love with him in the—?" he said hesitantly. Before he could finish, the door burst open. Hanschen stood there, bewildered. He glanced down at Gustave, gave him a dirty look, then looked up at Moritz and Ilse in bed.

"Sorry to disturb you, but..." He face fell, and his brow knotted up. "Wendla Bergman is dead."


	13. Ch 13 Whispering

Ilse had been crying all day in Gustave's room. Moritz convinced Hanschen to drag the cataleptic Gustave out the door and down the stairs so she could be alone. Gustave was awake and sober now, and the news had reached him. Now he, Moritz and Hanschen sat in his living room, listening to Ilse sob.

"Why don't you go talk to her, Herr Stiefel?" Gustave said after an uncomfortably long silence.

"I...I should probably leave her alone until she wants to talk." Moritz stammered. The truth was he wouldn't know what to say to her. Ilse and Wendla were good friends as children, and it was likely their friendship maintained behind Frau Bergman's back. Moritz, on the other hand, lost all contact with Wendla after they started school. They were never really close friends; she was more Melchior's friend when they were children. He had heard rumors that she thought he was a loser during school. He wasn't as close to Wendla as Melchior and Ilse were, so her death didn't shake him as badly as Ilse.

"Um...Hanschen..." he muttered quietly. The question had been eating him inside for awhile. "Did...did anemia really kill Wendla? My mother has anemia, and I heard it's not particularly lethal—" It took him a few seconds to realize that both Gustave and Hanschen were glaring daggers at him.

"You really are an idiot, Herr Stiefel." Hanschen said condescendingly. "'Anemia' is a blood disease, but around here it's just a mask-word. A word used in the place of something else entirely."

"In place of what?"

"Pregnancy, you nitwit. Abortion."

Moritz was taken aback, even more so then he was hearing of Wendla's death. Wendla was pregnant? Ilse told him she still thought the stork delivered babies. How could an innocent like her get pregnant? And what was an abortion? Melchior's essay didn't have that word, but it sounded like something hurt.

"You don't know what an abortion is, do you Moritz?" Gustave said heavily, seeing the quizzical expression on Moritz's face. Moritz shook his head, embarrassed, and Gustave groaned annoyingly. "When a girl gets pregnant and she doesn't want to have the baby, she can go to a doctor who will...terminate the pregnancy. Get rid of it." Moritz felt a queasy, unsettling feeling in his stomach.

"You mean...kill it? The baby?" he squeaked, horrified.

"It's not a baby until the mother has given birth to it." Hanschen interjected. "When it's still inside the womb, it is a part of the mother, like another bodily organ. It's not a separate entity until it is naturally pushed from the womb. The doctor removes the 'organ' before it becomes a baby."

"Hanschen is right." Gustave said. "How do you know all that—?"

"I'm not talking to _you_!" Hanschen snapped, folding his arms and turning away from Gustave. Gustave chuckled a little at Hanschen's fussiness and hostility. Even Moritz thought it was humorous. But even as he stifled a chuckle, that unsettling feeling remained in the pit of his stomach. It didn't feel right to even think about abortion; he didn't even like the word 'abortion'. It was harsh, and painful.

"Dr. Freight probably did it." Gustave said, disgust lacing his tone. "Horrid man, even worse doctor. But he's the only one around here who would perform one without stipulation or questions."

"Is it illegal?" Moritz asked curiously.

"It's sinful in the eyes of the church." Gustave replied. "The clergy sees it as murder. If, say, Ilse hadn't been thrown out, and got into...trouble, and had an abortion, the church would shun her."

"But that's awful! What if it wasn't her fault? Wouldn't the...the father have any say about it?"

"You ask too many questions." Hanschen groaned, leaning back in the chair. "Look at it any way you choose, but just leave it alone. I, personally, am just thankful it'll never happen to _me_." Moritz eyed Hanschen weirdly and started on his cabbage soup. That was one thing he could be jealous of Hanschen for..._that_ problem would never come up in his relationships. They sat there in silence eating their dinner until there was a creak on the stairs. Moritz looked up from his empty bowl to see Ilse standing there, her eyes red and bloodshot, but the crying was over. She now looked hardened and isolated. Moritz got up to embrace her, and found that she was quivering like a leaf. He held her until the shaking subsided.


	14. Ch 14 Mama Who Bore Me

The walk to the church was quiet and tense. Moritz was trembling with nerves and anticipation of seeing his mother. Would she come? What if she brings his father? What if the priest catches them?

"I can't feel my fingers, Moritz." Ilse said, smiling. He snapped out of it and relaxed his hand that was clasped around hers. "I know you're nervous, love, but you shouldn't be. It's just your mother."

"That's why I'm nervous." He moaned, massaging his temple with his free hand. "My mother...I don't know if I can trust her. What if she goes running back to my father?"

"That's not important." Ilse said firmly. "If she does go back, we'll hide you or smuggle you out of the country. Nobody's taking you away from me." Moritz smiled at her determined face and felt a little at ease. They reached the church in the dark, and scrambled through the window Hanschen left open at mass that day. The church was oddly creepy and still at nighttime, nothing like Moritz recalled. Ilse crept to the door to unlock it, and lit the oil lamp hanging outside the door.

"What if someone else sees it?" Moritz asked, "Won't they get suspicious?"

"No; the priest stays late at the church a lot. We'll only get in trouble if the priest sees it." Ilse replied. Moritz sat down at the pew closest to the door and began rubbing his hands together in nervousness. Ilse sat next to him at put her arms around him in a comforting embrace. "It's going to be alright." she said gently, kissing him on the cheek. "Don't be afraid; be happy you're seeing her again."

"I am happy, but..." Moritz started, but stopped at a sound at the door. His whole body turned to ice. There were footsteps on the stairs, and suddenly there was a slight knock at the door.

"Father?" his mother's voice floated through the crack in the door. "Father, I got your letter—"

"_Get the door!_" Ilse whispered fiercely. Moritz stood up, only to discover his legs were gravy. He wobbled for a few seconds, and then sat back down from dizziness. Ilse let out an exasperated sound and got up to answer the door herself. She pulled the double doors open to see Frau Stiefel standing alone.

"...Frau Ilse?" Frau Stiefel said softly, staring at her in bewilderment. "Did...did you call me here?" She smiled a little and brushed the hair from Ilse's face. "It's wonderful to see you, little Ilse."

"Thank you, Frau Stiefel," Ilse said, her own heart beginning to pound. "But I didn't call you here. Someone else did. Come in." She led Frau Stiefel into the church. Moritz's heart nearly exploded from the sight of his mother's silhouette. All of his nerves were drowned out with sheer excitement.

"Who's there?" Frau Stiefel said hesitantly. "Father Kahlbauch?" Ilse took the lamp from outside and brought it in, filling the church with a warm, yellow light. And they saw each other. Frau Stiefel let out a strangled cry and her hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes began to shine with tears, and Moritz could feel his eyes doing the same. Her hands slowly lowered, revealing a shocked, broken smile.

"Mother," he said softly, trying to hide his own tears. "Mother, I'm—"

"Oh, I _knew_ it!" She burst into tears, dropping her shawl on the floor. "I just knew it couldn't be true. I _knew_ it, Oh Moritz...!" She ran towards him and threw her arms around him, holding him so close he almost lost his breath. But he didn't care. He hugged her back just as hard, both of them sobbing quietly. He felt her knees buckle, and he held her steady.

"Mother...Mama..." he choked between sobs, "Mama, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I failed out of school, I'm sorry I left you alone with Father, I'm sorry he tricked you, I'm sorry for everything—"

"I love you, my son." Frau Stiefel sobbed, "I love you, I love you so much, it's not your fault… it was never your fault..." He felt her fingers dig into his jacket, trying to hold him even closer. He buried his face in her shoulder, his tears falling on her dress. She pulled away a little to look at his face. She stroked his cheek, wiping his tears away. "I never fully believed you were dead. I just couldn't do it. Your father...your father is so easy to read, but when I accosted him for lying, he refused to say..."

"Why don't you just leave him, Mama?" Moritz begged. "Leave and come with us..."

"I can't leave your father, Moritz." she said. "As long as he needs me, I'll remain by his side. You'll someday understand what it means, to love someone so much that nothing can ever hurt you."

"I do love someone, Mama." Moritz said quietly, glancing at Ilse over his mother's shoulder. Frau Stiefel looked over at Ilse, her eyes wide. She smiled warmly and beckoned Ilse forward. Ilse had been watching from the door. "I love Ilse, Mama. I love her more than anything else in the world."

"I remember when you used to play as children." Frau Stiefel said, placing her hand on Ilse's shoulder. "I envisioned you two growing up into beautiful adults and having a big, splendid wedding..." she wiped new tears from her eyes. "Maybe I will see it, someday. Love is something you must prepare to stake your life on. You can't grasp that concept now, but maybe someday you will...someday." Moritz felt Ilse's hands wrapping around his waist as she embraced him from behind. He stroked her arms and clasped her hands in his own. "My son...you've grown up so much...I just don't know what to do."

"Mother...I just wanted to let you know that I'm safe. But...I can't go home with you." Moritz said slowly, gripping Ilse's hands tighter. Frau Stiefel smiled, even suppressing a small chuckle.

"I know, Moritz, I know." she said. "Your father is very unstable right now. If you came home, I might lose you again. I'm quite surprised you haven't asked for my help or for money." Moritz blinked in surprise. He never even thought of asking his mother for anything. But now the idea had dawned on him, new ideas sprang into his head; he couldn't live with Gustave forever, not with his psycho gun-pointing every time he got unstable and his multiple gay affairs. Ilse deserved better than a living-room sofa. He wanted a better life for her and him, and he couldn't stay in hiding forever. He didn't want to.

"It seems all of that didn't even cross your mind, my son." Frau Stiefel said, smiling. "You still have a lot of growing up to do, Moritz Stiefel." Moritz blushed and looked at the floor, embarrassed. She stroked his hair maternally, and he smiled a little. Ilse felt her heart swell at the sight, and her grip around Moritz tightened. "Moritz, where have you been living now? Do you have a home, Ilse?"

"No," Ilse replied, coming around Moritz without letting go of him. "We've been living in Priapia with an artist, my friend Gustave Baum. He's a good caretaker, but it's an uncomfortable life."

"I think it's best if you don't stay close to town, just in the off chance somebody spots you." Frau Stiefel said gravely. "We need to contact someone outside of Germany who can help you."

"Melchior can help us!" Moritz said suddenly. He remembered Melchi talking about relatives he had in America who wrote him letters. Frau Stiefel covered her mouth again and sighed sadly.

"Melchior is gone, Moritz." she said gravely. "His parents sent him to a reformatory after...after he was expelled." Moritz felt his stomach drop. Expelled? Hanschen failed to mention that update.

"What happened? What did he do?" Ilse fretted. She remembered him being taken away at the funeral, and she remembered Wendla vomiting, Wendla pregnant...Wendla dead.

"They found an essay in his desk. The essay was horribly graphic and the content was expletive about...about sexual interactions." This time Moritz's stomach nearly hit the floor. Oh no, oh no oh no... "It was written for you, Moritz." Frau Stiefel said with a trace of sternness in her voice. "They think Melchior is directly responsible for you....your suicide." Moritz covered his face with his hands. It was his fault Melchior got expelled. Ilse knew there was more to the story; Wendla.

"Frau Stiefel...was he sent away for any other reason?" Ilse asked hesitantly. Frau Stiefel looked at Ilse as if she had accused her of something, then sighed and leaned in close to whisper.

"Frau Büstenhalter was gossiping...speculating...that Melchior got Wendla Bergman pregnant." Moritz had to sit down. He staggered to the nearest pew and gathered his head in his arms. Melchior was gone, Wendla was dead, and he was on the run. Was all of it because of him? Was it his entire fault?

"My poor boy." Frau Stiefel said gently, sitting beside him and rubbing his back. "I know it's hard, and I know you're confused. But we'll get through this somehow. Everything will be alright." Ilse sat on Moritz's other side and kissed him on the cheek. He felt a little relieved, knowing that he had help and support from the two most precious women in his life; his mother, and his love.

"We'll have to wait until Melchi gets back." He said finally. "They can't keep him there forever."


	15. Ch 15 Not Gone

_Ilse, _

_I have been running for days, but at last I am back. Now I beg you, for the sake of our old friendship, bring Wendla to meet me tonight in the graveyard behind the church. I will be waiting there at midnight. _

_~Melchior Gabor_

"Dammit Melchi... how could you have been so stupid?!" Moritz gasped as he and Ilse sprinted towards the cemetery. Ilse still clutched the letter she got from Melchior that afternoon in her hand, her insides contorting with fear. Melchior would find Wendla's grave in the cemetery if they didn't get there in time; God knows what he'll do when he discovers that his lover and his child are dead. Something irrational, something stupid...it was too terrible to think about. She picked up the pace. She hated Gustave now, hated him for holding them hostage with his gun, all through his stupid ether trip.

"Moritz, you have to be careful!" Ilse called out to Moritz, whose long legs had carried him way ahead of her. "It's going to be a huge shock for Melchior that Wendla's dead and... you're not!"

"How can I be careful about it?" Moritz yelled back, slowing down and allowing her to catch up. "Should I tell him Wendla's dead after he figures out that I'm not? So it's like good-news-bad-news...?" They reached the church, but as they slipped through the open gate to the cemetery, a horrible, piercing, retching noise was heard, followed by loud, uncontrollable sobs. They both stopped cold; it was too late. They stood there in the darkness and fog, listening to Melchior's cries of anguish, both unable to move.

"We need to go to him." Ilse finally said weakly. "We can't just let him cry alone like that..." Moritz didn't respond at first; he felt so horrible, it was almost as if he could feel Melchior's pain. With every sob he heard Melchior utter, he felt a small pang of hurt in his chest, like a needle in his heart.

"I'll...I'll go...first." he finally muttered, taking a few hesitant steps forward. "I'll..try to talk...talk to him..." he wandered into the fog, tripping over small headstones, in the direction of Melchior's sobs.

"Um...Melchi...?" he said hesitantly, "Melchi...Melchi, it's me...it's me, Moritz..." he stammered.

"Moritz?" he heard Melchior's voice directly in front of him. He crept closer and finally saw Melchior's back facing him; Melchior was slumped on the ground over Wendla's freshly dug grave. His whole body was heaving and his fists were clenched. His head tilted up quickly and looked around. "Moritz?" he said again. Moritz slowly walked up behind him and knelt down. Melchior didn't look at him. His eyes were squeezed shut and his face was dirty. He could see two tear-streaks on his cheeks. He lifted up his hand to touch his shoulder, when Melchior shuddered harshly. "I've been a fool." he said, a new touch of anger in his voice. Anger that always made Moritz nervous, even when they were children.

"Melchi, it's okay." Moritz said hesitantly, "I'm here...honestly, I am. I'm right here..."

"Well, you had the right idea." Melchior said, as if he had heard nothing Moritz said. Suddenly his hand jerked up out of the grave dirt, and Moritz's heart stopped cold; he had a dull, dirty razor blade clenched in his fist. Moritz felt his body seize up, as he was transported back to the night, the night Ilse saved him...the gun, and his intentions with it...Oh no. Not Melchior. He was paralyzed with fear.

"They'll scatter a little earth...AND THANK THEIR GOD!!" Melchior shouted, lifting the razor in front of him. His yell rang through the cemetery and rattled off the headstones.


	16. Ch 16 I Walk Now With Them

Everything seemed to happen in a blur of movement. Moritz lunged forward and threw his arms around Melchior's neck, shielding it from the blade. Ilse came out of nowhere, hiding behind a large headstone, and grabbed Melchior's hands, now both clenching the blade, intent on making it as quick as possible. She drove his hands to the ground with the force of her own hands, driving the blade into the dirt. Melchior let out a yowl like a wounded dog and lurched forward, out of Moritz's grasp. Ilse remained steadfast however, and kept the blade driven in the dirt. Melchior stopped struggling to look at her.

"Ilse?" he stuttered, his face ablaze with emotions. "Ilse, Wendla's dead...she's dead...I'm dead."

"No, you're not dead, Melchior." Ilse said softly, her hands clenching around his. "Listen, just calm down. I know this is hard for you, but don't do anything irrational...please don't kill yourself."

"I felt Moritz here." Melchior said, starting to shake. Ilse felt his hands grow cold. "I felt a pair of arms wrap around my neck...shielding me." Ilse smiled at him, turning away to hide it from him.

"Those _were_ my arms, Melchi." Moritz said meekly. Melchior went completely stiff at the sound of Moritz's voice, and his mouth hung open like a fish's mouth. He slowly turned his head around to see Moritz, kneeling behind him and staring at him hopefully. "I'm really here, Melchi." Moritz said, smiling. "That grave is empty." Melchior's face was completely deadpan. "Melchi, I'm so sorry abou—"

"YOU IDIOT!!" Melchior wrenched free from Ilse's grip and tackled Moritz to the ground like a ram. Ilse cried out and toppled backwards on the grass as Melchior began pounding Moritz's chest with his clenched fists. "You...you idiot...! You imbecile...! How could you?! HOW COULD YOU?!"

"Melchior, stop!" Ilse cried, trying to grab his flailing fists. "You still have the razor in your...!"

"I HATE YOU!" Melchior screamed louder, the pounds becoming more like punches. Moritz clenched his jaw, taking the blows. If this was going to help Melchior believe he was real, than fine. "I hate you...! For leaving me...! I HATE YOU!" Moritz finally lifted his hand up and grabbed Melchior's arm, hard, holding his fist at bay. The razor was still clenched tightly in it, glinting in the moonlight.

"That's starting to hurt, Melchi." He squeaked, his chest throbbing. "Do you see I'm real now?" Melchior looked up at the razor for a moment, then started shaking his head. His face began to twist like he was in pain, tears squeezing out of his tightly shut eyes. Moritz tentatively let go of Melchior's arm, and his fist dropped to his side. The blade dropped out of his hand into the grass. Ilse grabbed it.

"Why....why...?" Melchior began to sob, covering his face with his hands. "Why are you doing this to me...? Why are you here...and not Wendla??" Moritz scooted out from under Melchior. He held out his hand to Ilse, who was clutching the razor. She hesitated, shaking her head, but the look on Moritz's face was stern and demanding. She tentatively handed him the razor, which he flicked open.

"I am here, Melchi." He said. Melchior peeked through his fingers at hearing Moritz speak. "Ilse saved me...from myself. She saved my life. My father buried an empty coffin so he wouldn't have to deal with me anymore. Lots of parents do that when their children run away. I've been living in Priapia with Ilse. When she got your letter today...I knew I had to come and see you...to make sure you...you don't do what I almost did." Melchior's hands slowly lowered from his face. His lower lip was quivering like a child's, and his eyes were round and staring, as if he was scared Moritz would vanish. "Look, Melchi..." Moritz brought the razor close to his hand. Ilse let out a cry and covered her eyes. "I really am real." He drew the blade across his palm, and he squeezed his eyes tight to keep from crying out. A thin line of blood formed on his palm, and he held it up right in Melchior's stark-white face. "Look at the blood, Melchi." he said gently, like he was talking to a child. "You see it? You see me?"

"M-Mo-Moritz..." He stuttered, his voice cracked and broken. He suddenly let out a strangled gasp of relief and flung his arms around him in a big bear hug. Moritz let out a long breath of relief, while subsequently sucking in air from the pain in his hand. "Oh my God, Moritz, you're alive..."

"Yes he's alive, and he's also bleeding!" Ilse said hurriedly, pulling Melchior off Moritz with great difficulty. She tore off the hem of her dress and began wrapping Moritz's palm with it.

"Oh Melchi, I'm so sorry about Wendla." Moritz said, not paying heed to Ilse's tending to his hand. Melchior's happy expression darkened, as if he had forgotten about it. "I know...Ilse told me...how much she meant to you." Melchior lowered his head, his hair fluttering like leaves in the wind. Ilse finished wrapping up Moritz's cut, and went to place a comforting hand on Melchior's shoulder. He slowly lifted his hand to touch hers. His other hand went to his heart, where it rested against his chest.

"It's winter in my heart right now." he said gravely, his voice withered and tired. "I've lost so much...but knowing you're here..." He looked up at Moritz and Ilse. "I know spring will return again."


	17. Intermission and Author's Comments

~Welcome to Intermission~

Hey, everybody! GuiltyOne687 here, and I'm so glad you all are enjoying my story! Because of the positive reviews I've been receiving, I've decided to post the rest of my story for everyone to read. I could just leave the fanfic as it is, but I tend to make everything I do more complicated than it should be :D So I created a whole new arc and adventure for these beloved characters. I hope you all enjoy it!

WARNING: This fanfic is extremely LONG, and those of little patience and little tolerance for OCs and really short chapters (39 in total) should evacuate this story immediately. Run, do not walk, to the nearest exit; the OCs may overwhelm you…because there are a lot of them. This also applies to die-hard Wendla and "Welchior" fans, and also to Ernst Robel fans, because unfortunate things happen to them for the sake of the story (Well, unfortunate stuff has already happened to Wendla, so I guess the Wendla fans have left the building). Ernst/Hanschen fans need not be discouraged. There will be much delightful gay smut. I repeat, SAFPs (Spring Awakening Fanfic Purists) may be a little put off.

Before we continue, one reviewer suggested I add Author's Notes to my chapters. I will oblige from now on, but I don't want to go back and re-edit my already-posted chapters, so here are some notes about those right here:

-Ilse's mother was British, that's why Ilse calls Wendla "Wendy", pronouncing the W. This comes back later in the story. I'm just acknowledging this because my roommate was pestering me about it :P

-Chapter 11 is as racy as I'm going to get. There's not gonna be any more sex scenes, so if you're anticipating another one, DON'T. Go find a hardcore Ernst/Hanschen fic and get your fix there.

-In Chapter 13, I tried to be as analytical as I could about abortion, since it's such a touchy subject. I hope that no one was offended, and that the reactions of the characters seemed appropriate. There won't be any more discussion on it if it made you uncomfortable.

-I'm not a professional at this like my roommate, Elizabeth West (check out her Harry Potter fics, they are quite good). I admit to having some plot holes and the characters acting WAY older and more mature than normal 15-year-olds should. I hope you will all exercise patience on a newbie :)

And finally, before I continue:

DISCLAIMER: Spring Awakening is not owned by me or the countless other Guilty Ones who desire it. Spring Awakening is owned by Michael Mayer, Duncan Sheik and Quasimodo AKA Tom Hulce :D

Now, on with things!

~GuiltyOne687


	18. Ch 17 Guilty Ones

"Come on, let's get inside." Ilse said gently, "It's too cold out here to reconnect." Moritz nodded and stood up roughly, holding out a hand to Melchior. Melchior took it, but struggled to stand properly. He nearly fell back down but Ilse and Moritz held him upright. He clutched his head as he wobbled about.

"I'm sorry," he said dizzily. "I've been running for days, and this is all...my head..." Everything was spinning at a very fast pace in Melchior's head, and he was ablaze with emotions; unbridled joy at the discovery of Moritz alive, anger and overwhelming sadness for his lost love Wendla and their child, and pounding adrenaline from...everything. He could barely feel his feet touch the ground, and at the same time they dragged him down like boulders. Moritz and Ilse hoisted up either side of Melchior and helped him hobble towards the church. They were surprised to find the back door unlocked and open.

"Who would be in at this hour?" Ilse asked as they crept inside. "We can't risk anything, Moritz. We need to find a place you can hide in case we're jumped by the priest or someone else."

"Uh, right." Moritz said as they clumsily dumped Melchior into the pew closest to the door. He glanced around and saw a small door to what looked like a closet standing ajar next to the entrance. "I'll just dive in there if someone catches us." Ilse brought in the oil lamp and lit it, sitting next to Melchior.

"Melchior...what are you going to do now?" Ilse asked carefully. "Are you going home?"

"I can't," Melchior replied, his voice low and thin, like he was getting over a cold. "Not now, anyway. I'm on the run, a fugitive from a very prestigious reformatory. The first place they'll go is my home." He sighed sadly. "I've been keeping in contact with my mother the whole time I was there... she's probably wondering why I haven't written her in a while."

"Melchi, your mother is understanding." Moritz said comfortingly. "Once the reformatory gives up on you, you can send her a letter knowing you're safe. Then she can tell you if you can come home."

"But that's going to take awhile; those disciplinary people are like police." Ilse said. "We'll ask Gustave if he can house Melchior with us until..." Moritz shook his head sharply.

"We can't do that to him, Ilse." Moritz warned, "And I'm speaking for Melchior _and_ Gustave. Gustave has done a lot for you and me, but I can't ask him to house another person in his already cramped house. And I won't subject Melchi to his random gun-toting escapades with ether and liquor."

"Sounds like fun."Melchior muttered under his breath. Ilse giggled a little.

"Well, it's not boring." she said between giggles. "But we need to find a place of our own."

"We're only 15...still children to the world." Melchior interjected darkly. "Until we're 16 or older, we need to find someone we can live with. Somewhere where were we can work and earn money."

"And far away from here." Moritz added. "I can't be seen by anybody around here; if it gets back to the church or my father, there'll be uproar."

"Curse the clergy and their influence." Melchior growled, "It was probably them who convinced Frau Bergman to get Wendla..._neutered!_" he spat the last word out angrily. "I hope Frau Bergman suffers for an eternity...for what she put Wendla through." Moritz put his hand on Melchior's shoulder.

"We need to get away from here...it's no good for us to stay around here anymore." Moritz said knowingly, "We know too much...about the clergy, the scandals they create...they'd soon lock us up."

"Moritz, didn't you tell your mother that Melchior had relatives in America?" Ilse asked. Melchior's head shot up straight, his eyes wide with revelation. His face broke into a mischievous smile.

"That's it...by God, that's _it_!" he said, smacking his hands together. The sound reverberated off the walls. Moritz and Ilse shushed him fervently, but he was too excited to hear them. "I'll contact my uncle, Heinrich. I haven't talked to him in a long, long time...but I'm sure he can help us out...!"

"Melchi, _shush_!" Moritz whispered urgently. "You've got an idea, that's great but we can't..." a loud rustling noise broke the silence. They all froze in place. Moritz took off towards the closet, only to have it open before he could get to it. Two people tumbled out on the floor, and Ilse burst out laughing.

"Well, never expected that." Melchior said, surprised. "Hello, Herr Rilow and... Herr Robel?"

The burly blonde and scrawny Pollack lay there on the church floor, their clothes askew and their faces flushed and breathy. Ernst's shirt was completely off, and there were dark spots on Hanschen's neck. There was a very awkward silence, and nobody dared to say anything. Finally Hanschen coughed a bit.

"Welcome back, Herr Gabor." he said quietly. Ernst looked traumatized from being discovered.

"Thank you, Herr Rilow. Of all places to do your dirty escapades." Melchior said smugly.

"You going somewhere?" Hanschen asked, ignoring him, "I heard you talking about leaving—"

"PLEASE DON'T TELL!" Ernst burst out, his eyes huge with fear. "Oh please, please don't tell anyone! If my parents find out, or the pastor...I'm an altar boy!" Hanschen turned and glared at Ernst.

"I thought you weren't sorry about us." Hanschen said indignantly. "If you're ashamed, then..."

"Oh no, I'm not ashamed!" Ernst said quickly, crawling towards Hanschen like a kitten. "I could never be ashamed of this! I don't regret it, but...but it's forbidden! I can't get shunned from the church!"

"Honestly, I think the pastor would welcome you...with open legs." Ilse snickered.

"_That's not funny!_" Ernst yelled shrilly. Moritz marveled at how much Ernst sounded like a girl.

"You're so cute when you're upset." Hanschen said warmly, stroking Ernst's face and lower lip. "You're like a puppy, all excited about nothing...and it's my job to train you." Ernst's cheeks turned pink and he looked down out of embarrassment to hide his wide smile. "I'd better get you back to your cage."

"Put your shirt on, it's cold outside." Moritz chipped in awkwardly. Ernst scuffled towards the closet for his shirt. Moritz turned back to Melchior. "Do you feel well enough to walk, Melchi?"

"I'm alright." Melchior said gruffly, standing up by himself. "That bit of comedy lightened me."

"Oh, snuff it." Hanschen scoffed. "Where are _you_ staying, O Exalted Gabor? Surely Gustave can't fit another runaway in his house." Moritz furrowed his brow in thought. Where _could_ Melchior go and be safe? Ilse seemed to be thinking too, when suddenly she pounded her fist into her open palm.

"Right here!" she said brightly. "This church has a basement with all sorts of leftover junk from Christmas pageants, Easter parades, decorations...Melchior could easily hide in there until one of you—" she pointed at Ernst and Hanschen, "—come down and get him when no one is around to see him."

"How did you know the church had a basement?" Moritz asked curiously. She grinned at him.

"What better place to denounce celibacy than in the church?" she said sneakily. Moritz winced.

"Ilse, I think I love you again." Melchior laughed, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her like a father lifts a child. Moritz winced even harder. He didn't like that; he didn't like it at all. Ilse didn't like it either. Being embraced by Melchior used to feel amazing, but now...it felt dirty.

"Thank you, Melchior." she said stiffly, breaking out of his arms and darting to Moritz. Moritz instinctively threw his arms around her, holding her close. Melchior looked confused and rather put out.

"Are you two in love?" Ernst piped, his voice curious and cheerful. Ilse and Moritz were taken aback by such an abrupt question, but quickly gathered themselves and nodded, blushing slightly. "That's _wonderful_!" he exclaimed, his face breaking into a smile. Hanschen sighed, annoyed.

"Come on, let's get Herr Gabor settled so I can take this puppy home." Ernst pouted at Hanschen, only to have Hanschen pinch his lower lip with his teeth. Ilse led the jumbled group to the doorway to the basement, fortunately finding it unlocked. They all traveled down the spiral staircase for what seemed like hours, with Ernst's constant squealing from Hanschen's improper grabbing only prolonging the torture. Finally they reached the door to the basement, which Moritz picked unlocked. Inside was a vast cavern of wreaths, lamps, rugs, swatches, fabric rolls, offering-table decorations and a whole rack of Christmas and Easter pageant clothes. Melchior lit an oil lamp and began making himself comfortable, avoiding glances from Moritz and Ilse. Before they turned to leave, Moritz tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around solemnly, only to have Moritz hand him back the rusty razor blade.

"Just in case you need it." Moritz said, trying to smile. "Will you be able to sleep tonight?"

"How can I sleep with two tons of irony over my head?" Melchior snickered, closing the door.

* * *

A/N: I just LOVE Ernst/Hanschen. They are freaking adorable, and I just wanna glomp widdle Ernst :D Anyway, clearly these guys are thinking WAY too much like adults, and I'm not sure if the reformatories back then were as diligent as police. Or if the clergy locked up children who knew too much. But it's all for the sake of the story; what they're going to do is pretty awesome for 15-year-olds, and only possible in FanFicdom :D


	19. Ch 18 Thought is Suspect

"It was _nothing_, I swear by God!" Ilse snapped defensively. Moritz turned away from her, obsessively running his fingers through his hair. He couldn't fathom it. Ilse and Melchior? It felt wrong just thinking about it, because in the back of his mind it made sense; Ilse and Melchior were outgoing, creative and incredibly smart people. It's only logical that they would get together...this made him even more upset, and failed to realize that he had started pulling out his hair. It made so much sense, it was killing him.

"Moritz, stop it." Ilse said, reaching towards his arms to stop his hands. He shook her off.

"I can't..." he stuttered, not able to look at her. "I just can't...why did it end?" he asked quickly.

"Why do you care?" she demanded. "It's in the past, it's _over_. It _ended_ a year ago, so why...?"

"WHY DID IT END?!" Moritz shouted, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. "I need to know...I need to know why!" Ilse wrenched away from him, backing away and sitting on the sofa.

"Because he left me." she said quietly, trying to hide the pain of the memory. "When it was over...he left me in an abandoned hayloft, all by myself. When I woke up there was nobody there..." she quickly wiped her eyes with her hands. "I found him, confronted him...and...he told me...he didn't love me. He regretted it, wished it never happened. He told me he loved somebody else...he didn't even say he was _sorry_!" She burst into tears, slumping over her knees. "I hate him...I hate him..._I hate him!!_" Moritz felt so horrible, he felt his heart beating against his ribcage, punishing him for hurting Ilse. He sat down next to her and wrapped his arms around her. She didn't respond at all.

"Ilse, I'm so sorry." he said earnestly. "I didn't mean to put you through that...I just had to know. So that...so that...I could feel some sense...of security." It felt more awful saying it than thinking it. How selfish, to torture Ilse just so he could feel secure in their love. "I'm sorry Ilse...again. I'm really sorry!" He gripped her tighter, but she still didn't respond. It killed him even more than knowing she was with Melchior. He pulled her towards him, burying his head in her hair and kissing her. She finally stirred... and got up as if he hadn't touched her. His chest hurt so badly that he placed his hand on his heart. She headed towards the spiral staircase, but instead of going up, she leaned against the rail with her back towards him. Her head swiveled around, rubbing her temple and hiding her face.

"I love you, Moritz." she said, her voice quivering. "I do love you...but I have had men before you. I've had love affairs. I've had sex with your best friend. If you had known all of this before that night I found you..." she turned to him, tears streaming down her face. "...would you still love me?" Moritz felt a lump form in his throat the size of a potato. He flew off the couch and flung his arms around her before she could get away. He clenched her so tightly that he could feel her heart beating.

"I love you Ilse, no matter what you do..." he could barely finish; had he never said 'I love you' to Ilse? Only in the heat of passion, but never in an earnest moment. "I love you. I'll always love you. I'd love you even if you slept with Hanschen—" Ilse abruptly retracted her head to look him in the face.

"THAT will never happen." she said, grimacing. "I'm vomiting a little just thinking about it." Moritz stifled a laugh, but couldn't hold it and burst out laughing. He lowered his arms to around her hips and lifted her, spinning her around. "Put me down!" she tried to say between giggles. He lowered her to the ground and kissed her on the lips. She didn't fight it, and kissed him passionately back.

"Ilse, I love you so much." he said between kisses. He loved saying it, he wanted to say it until eternity. "No matter what happened between you and Melchi, I don't care. As long as you're mine _now_."

"I am yours alone." she said, kissing his ear and neck. "And I need to tell you; I do want to be friends with Melchior. I will reject anything he tries, but I will remain friends with him. Is that alright?"

"Yes." he said quietly. "All I wanted was to know that...that nothing could ever happen between you and Melchi again, because I love you both so much...and I couldn't stand it if you and he were to..."

"I would _**never**_." she said firmly, taking his hands in hers. "I don't love him anymore. I love _you_. And I know how close you and Melchior are. I'll never get in the way of that." Moritz kissed her again.

"I love you so much," he moaned as she began to take off his shirt. "I'll never doubt you again."

* * *

A/N: Here's a little immature thinking on Moritz's part, but he quickly redeems himself :) I'm not gonna describe it in detail, but they DO have sex after this, in case you couldn't tell :D I just feel like pointing that out because it greatly affects what's gonna happen next...


	20. Ch 19 Fleeing to America

_Dear Mr. Gabor,_

_I regret to inform you that your uncle Heinrich has been dead for six months. He contracted consumption and left this world. I cannot read German very well, but I understood that you were in a pinch and needed stability in America. I am your uncle's lover and fiancée, Clothilde. I own a jewelry store in Manhattan that Heinrich established, and my daughter Reine and I would be willing to let you and your party rent out the apartments above the store for a reasonable sum. Please keep in contact and let me know when you are coming so I can clear out the apartments for your party. God bless you._

_Sincerely,_

_Clothilde Villes_

* * *

_My dear Moritz,_

_Enclosed is some money that I have been saving without your father's knowledge. I was saving it in case of an emergency, but now you need it more than I do. Use it to take the train to the seashore and find a boat to America. I trust that you will use it wisely. Keep in touch while you are in America, and I will assist you in any way I can. I love you, my son, never forget that. Your father loves you too, and someday he will be able to say it to your face. You and Ilse are in my prayers. Take care of each other._

_Everlasting love,_

_Mother_

* * *

_Mother,_

_My deepest thanks for the money. Believe me when I say it will be spent wisely...I know because Ilse took it from me. Ilse has been sick, Mother. I am worried that she will not be fit to travel. She vomits frequently and sometimes can barely stand from nausea. Herr Baum refuses to take her to a doctor because he believes all doctors are sadists who like to play God and watch lesser people scream. He insists on taking care of her himself, but I don't think he can figure out what's wrong with her either. Hanschen Rilow and Ernst Robel are aiding us in our escape, and I am writing them to see if they know anything about Ilse's condition. I pray every night that she will be all right to travel for America._

_Forever loving,_

_Moritz_

* * *

_Mother,_

_I have run away from the reformatory. Don't tell Father. That is why I haven't contacted you for weeks. I found out in the reformatory that Wendla was pregnant with my child, and I escaped to see her and take her away to a place where we could raise our child without the constraint of society. I came back only to find Wendla and our child both dead, and my dreams shattered. However, I have found salvation in my friends, Hanschen Rilow, Ernst Robel and Ilse, the girl I used to play with in childhood. They have been keeping me hidden and safe while I am home. I'm afraid I can't come and see you. I know the reformatory will be looking for me, so I will be fleeing to America in a month or two to live with late Uncle Heinrich's lover, Clothilde. She has volunteered to take Ilse and I in. Have faith in me, Mother. I will be home when the reformatory gives up on finding me, which I will count on you to tell me when that happens. I love you and Father very much, and I hope I have your love and your confidence. _

_Sincerely,_

_Melchior _

* * *

_Herr Stiefel,_

_Ilse is pregnant. You're an ass. _

_Hanschen_

* * *

A/N: Hanschen's a jerk :P This is what I like to call a "bridging" chapter. These letters are all exchanged in the course of four months, in order save me from writing even more than I already have (which is still a LOT). And yes, that WAS an epic _Juno_ reference in Moritz's letter to his mother :D


	21. Ch 20 Ruined All The True Plans

The room was stripped and bare. The only thing inside were two benches, a small hand-mirror hung on the wall, and a tiny table between the benches where an old news pamphlet sat, gathering dust. Moritz clenched his hands together until the knuckles were white. His jaw was clenched as well, so hard his teeth hurt. His head was so blurred with thoughts that his vision was hazy. _Pregnant. Ilse was pregnant._ He had thought Hanschen was being a jerk when he read that letter, but when he mentioned it to Ilse, she gasped and burst into tears. Now he was sitting with Gustave, waiting for Dr. Freight to finish up.

"Moritz, you're going to tear the skin off your hands." Gustave said, gently pulling Moritz's hands apart. "I don't like this anymore than you do, but we had to find a doctor who wouldn't talk."

"He scares me." Moritz admitted meekly. "I don't think he's a real doctor."

"He may not be, but he knows how to be one." Gustave replied, gritting his teeth. "And right now...Ilse needs a doctor." Moritz shook his head and buried it in his arms.

"She could've been pregnant for months." he moaned into his sleeves. "I thought she was just..." The door creaked open at the far end of the room. Ilse stood there with the creepy, looming Dr. Freight standing over her. Dr. Freight was a very scary man; he made Johan Farandorf look like Santa Claus. He was very tall and skeletal, but he was completely bald so he actually looked like a skeleton. His eyes bugged out of his head and were extremely shiny, like a corpse's eyes. His nose was hooked and crooked and his mouth was a thin line that curled into a very nasty smile, like the one had on right now.

"Our dear Ilse is indeed expecting." he said. Moritz shuddered a little; his voice was like Herr Sonnenstitch's nails on his blackboard. "She has been expecting for awhile; four months to be exact."

"F-f-f-four months?" Moritz squeaked. His mind immediately flew back to the night when he confronted Ilse about her relationship with Melchior, and the sex afterwards...that was four months ago. Ilse's face was deadpan, but he could tell she had been crying. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks wet.

"Ilse has informed me that you plan to go on a little trip across seas in the near future?" Dr. Freight said lightly. "This I certainly condone. She is too far along to get an abortion, and sea travel is not good for her condition; she needs stability and solid ground, or she will certainly miscarry...or die."

Die?

That small word felt like a bullet in Moritz's chest. He sat completely still as the word reverberated in his head like an echo. It grew to multiple words. _Die. Dead. Dying. Ilse dying_...that can't happen. It won't happen. He won't let it happen. His face hardened like stone and he stood up. Ilse lifted her head up, but his eyes didn't meet hers. He was looking directly at Dr. Freight.

"What do you recommend we should do?" he said, his voice flat and militant, like a soldier.

"Well, I think Ilse's instinct should cover most of that, but I recommend plenty of bed rest, healthy eating...and no long travel." Dr. Freight replied hesitantly, clearly not knowing direct answers.

"Thank you, Dr. Freight." Gustave interjected quickly, scuttling forward and pulling Ilse away from his looming shadow by the arm. "I will pay you on my next payday."

"I appreciate the business." Dr. Freight said, grinning crookedly. Moritz gripped Ilse's hand and she wrapped herself around his arm, looking at Dr. Freight fearfully. "And..." he added, "I am sorry about your dear little friend Wendla. Such a sweet little girl..." his smile increased tenfold in creepiness.

"Go to hell!" Ilse cried, her eyes tearing up. Moritz rushed her to the door, not looking back. Gustave remained inside, hopefully to threaten the scary doctor impersonator. Once outside Ilse clung to Moritz like a child, sobbing uncontrollably. He held her until she calmed down and looked up at him.

"Oh Moritz, I'm so sorry!" she wept. "I've ruined everything...everything we had planned..." Gustave strode out of the rickety, hidden office with a grin on his face and a little blood on his fist.

"Good thing we got that out of the way." Gustave said smugly, "_I _thought you were getting fat."

* * *

A/N: Gustave is a jerk, too :P Did Santa Claus exist in 1890's Germany? Was he called Father Christmas? I don't know, I probably should've done some research. And I'm pretty sure that sea travel wouldn't kill Ilse if she's just 4 months along, and I'm only assuming that 4 months is too late for an abortion at that time; feel free to correct me on any of these things, but don't expect me to alter anything in my story... I'm too lazy :P


	22. Ch 21 My Old Friend

"We just won't take you with us." Melchior said seriously. "You're the only one not in real danger here in town. You can be our connection back here who will let us know when it's safe to come home."

"No!" Ilse shouted angrily, rattling the bells on the wreaths around her. "I'm going with you!"

"You can't go!" Moritz objected, "You could die, and I won't let that happen!"

"I won't _die_!" Ilse retaliated angrily. "That Dr. Freight is a fraud, he doesn't know what he's—"

"But what if he _does_?" Moritz asked, sweating profusely. "The thing is we don't _know_, Ilse. So we should just be safe and not take any risks—" he stopped as he saw that Ilse was crying.

"I don't want you to leave me!" she cried, "What if you never come back?" Moritz pulled Ilse into a tight embrace as she sobbed into his chest. He looked desperately over her shoulder at Melchior. Melchior was scratching the nape of his neck, watching Ilse huddle against Moritz. He didn't look angry, but he certainly didn't look content. Moritz pulled Ilse closer, protectively.

"Ilse, I promise...I vow...that I will come back to you." he said softly, stroking her hair. "And I'll get a job in America and make money for you and...and the...the baby...can come and live there too."

"You're just saying that." Ilse said dryly, her voice muffled against his shirt. "America is full of pretty girls and whorehouses. Once you get off the boat you'll forget all about me..."

"How could I forget you?" he asked, pulling her back to look in her eyes. "I love you. You're carrying my child. We'll start a family together in America, I'll get a job and—"

"Let's not jump to any conclusions." Melchior interrupted coldly. "You're getting way too ahead of yourself, Moritz. You're only 15, and you're talking about jobs and a family? That's awfully mature."

"I'm just thinking of what's right!" Moritz snapped. "It would be wrong to leave Ilse, with her expecting soon. It would be wrong to just let her have the child and raise it all by herself. It would—"

"Right, wrong, right, wrong..." Melchior said angrily, jerking his hands up and down like weight scales. "Is there a right and wrong? For all you know, it could be the _right_ thing to do to leave Ilse!" Moritz stood up and did something he never thought he'd do, never in 100 years. He punched Melchior. Hard. In the face. Melchior flew backwards and caught himself on a nearby spare pew, gasping for air. Ilse let out a cry and her hands flew to her mouth as Melchior turned around and punched Moritz back.

"You think everything will turn out alright, you imbecile?" Melchior shouted as Moritz clutched the side of his face. "You've been so damn lucky this whole time; you have love, a place to stay, you—"

"LUCKY?!" Moritz yelled, making the whole room rattle. "You think I'm lucky?! I lost my family and my home. I may never see my mother again! My father BURIED me! Someday, you can go home to a family that loves you and they will welcome you home...and I CAN'T!" he whacked Melchior, open-handed, across the face with enough force to send him spinning. Ilse cried out again and flew to Moritz's side. She grabbed his hand, which was still shaking and red from the impact.

"That's enough, Moritz." she said shakily, kissing his hand and moving back his hair to see the bruise on his cheek. "Please don't fight; you need each other." She looked over at Melchior, who still had his back towards them. He stood up roughly and turned to look at them. His mouth was bleeding.

"You have never hit me before, Moritz." he said, his voice flat and quivering, "Even when I hit you when you were children. Even when I attacked you in the graveyard...you didn't do anything."

"I didn't want to, Melchi." Moritz whispered, his arms around Ilse. "I wanted to now."

"Because I insulted you?" Melchior inquired. "That's a fair reason to hit someone."

"No." Moritz replied. "You insulted Ilse." Melchior's mouth opened to form a little O, and he slowly wiped the treacle of blood from his mouth. He looked Moritz square in the eyes...and smiled.

"Moritz, I was wrong. You have grown, more than I could ever imagine. Maybe more than me." Moritz felt his heart swell with relief, and a touch of pride. Melchior held out his hand, but Moritz flew right past it and enveloped Melchior in a bear hug. Melchior chuckled and hugged him right back. Ilse's eyes filled with tears of happiness; maybe Moritz was safe going to America after all; he had Melchior.

* * *

A/N: I really do adore the friendship between Melchior and Moritz, and this chapter was rather difficult to write. But Moritz needed to stand up for himself in order for him to be truly on par with Melchior emotionally, so that now they're BOTH ready for this journey they're going to make together. And yes, Ilse does stay in Germany :P Don't worry, she has her own little side story involving Hanschen and Ernst while they're gone.


	23. Ch 22 We'll Wander Down

The sea breeze was crisp and refreshing, and the line of super-liners glinted red and white in the sun. Melchior was two steps ahead of Moritz and Ilse, his head held high and clenching two tickets in his hand. Behind Moritz and Ilse were Gustave, Hanschen and Ernst, who were coming to see them off and make sure Ilse got home safely. Ernst was carrying Melchior's bag, begrudgingly. The train ride over was cramped and took forever, and Moritz was glad for the chance to stretch his legs again. Ilse was clinging his arm so hard he thought she wouldn't be able to let go when it was time. His other arm felt like it got longer every stride he took, and his heavy bag got closer and closer to the ground. As they approached the gigantic ocean-liner, Ilse's grip on his arm got so tight he lost feeling in his fingers. The captain and the crew was standing outside the ship, welcoming the wealthy and privileged on their ship.

"Can I help you urchins?" the captain said gruffly as Melchior approached him.

"I have two tickets to board your ship to America." Melchior replied, looking him square in the eye and holding up the tickets. The captain took them and inspected them. He grinned nastily at him.

"These tickets are for third-class, boys." He said condescendingly. "They board down there." He pointed to the docks further off, where instead of the docks leading up to the deck of the ship, they led down to a porthole in the hull. The line was considerably longer for third-class than first-class.

"Better than nothing." Melchior huffed as the group trudged to the back of the line.

"Well, this is where we part ways." Gustave said as Ernst handed Melchior his bag. Ilse lowered her head and buried it in Moritz's shoulder. He sighed and smiled; he knew she wouldn't make it easy. He embraced her tightly, running his hand through her hair and along her 4-month pregnant stomach. He felt her quivering a little, and tilted her chin up to see that she was crying. He smiled sweetly at her.

"You promised to see me off with a smile." he said. "I'll only be gone for at least a few months."

"You better." Ilse said shakily. "I want my baby to have a father from the moment she is born."

"How do you know it's a girl?" he inquired. She shrugged, and finally managed to crack a smile. He chuckled, and kissed her gently on the lips. She held him there and threw her arms around his neck. He had to bend in a little since her stomach was separating them more than it did a few months ago.

"Do you get the feeling that there's something between us?" he joked, caressing her stomach. She giggled and mussed his curly hair. "I'll miss you, my love." he whispered in her ear. She pulled him closer, bearing the pain of her stomach being pressed against. She kissed his neck and ear passionately.

"Come home soon, love." she whispered back as he kissed her cheek. He finally pulled away and kissed her hand. They had properly said goodbye the night before, but it didn't make it less painful.

"Come on, lovebirds!" Hanschen said impatiently. "I need to start a paper on the Iliad!"

"That's due _this_ Monday?!" Ernst squawked in horror, "I'll never finish it in time!!" Moritz glared at Hanschen, wrapped Ilse up in another passionate kiss, and rushed to join Melchior in line. Ilse quickly covered up more tears, and Ernst rushed to give her a comforting hug.

"Good luck to both of you." Gustave said kindly, shaking both Moritz and Melchior's hands. "I hope things will blow over here soon. And don't worry about Ilse; she's in good hands."

"Not yours, I hope." Moritz muttered under his breath. Before they had left, he made Hanschen promise to protect Ilse and keep her safe from Gustave's scary antics, or he would letter the Rilows about their son's sexual escapades. He eyed Hanschen over Gustave's shoulder, who glared at him.

"I wish you well on your journey, Herr Gabor." Hanschen said, shaking Melchior's hand stiffly.

"Stay out of trouble, you loose cat." Melchior replied smartly. "And take care of little Ernst."

"Don't worry, he's going to be a very good little boy." Hanschen replied, grinning mischievously. Melchior shuddered and gave him a very disapproving look before turning around and join Moritz and hand his tickets to the shipmate. Moritz turned to look at Ilse one last time. Their eyes met for an instant.

"Goodbye Herr Stiefel! Goodbye Herr Gabor!" Ernst waved cheerily, his arm around Ilse. Melchior and Moritz waved goodbye one last time, before ducking into the porthole and disappearing.

* * *

A/N: "Goodbye love, goodbye love," and all that... and of course Ernst and Hanschen are there to provide comic relief :) If some nitpicker is wondering, they got the money for tickets from their mothers and odd jobs. I tend to leave out the "earning money" bits in this story; I have too much stuff already :P


	24. Ch 23 No More Whispering Anymore

"How many times have you puked in there?" Melchior shouted through the door. "I need to go now!" Moritz heaved for a third time, only to have nothing come up. His head was still spinning and his stomach was churning, but since there was nothing for it to churn out, he'd be good until dinnertime.

"I'm done." he garbled, wobbling out of the toilet. Melchior watched him hobble to the bunk and flop onto the bottom bed, which Melchior had claimed as his own. He rolled his eyes and rushed in, slamming the door behind him. Moritz groaned and rolled over on his back, looking up at the wooden panels under the bunk above him. Someone had carved the world "OJÁLA" in the wood. He had no idea what it meant; maybe it was in English. "Melchi," he called out, "What does oh-jolla mean?"

"O-what?" Melchior said as he washed his hands.

"Oh-jolla. It's carved on the wood under the bunk." Melchior walked out of the toilet, his eyebrow raised. He ducked under the bunk and eyed the wood plank. He chuckled a little.

"It's _ojála_." Melchior said. "It's Spanish, it means 'hope'. Appropriate, huh?" he gave Moritz a friendly jab in the shoulder before climbing the ladder to the top bunk. He sprawled out on his back, making the whole bed creek. Moritz felt a tinge of nervousness as the wood planks shifted above him.

"We're really running away to America, aren't we Moritz?" Melchior said thoughtfully.

"I feel like Odysseus," Moritz said, grinning. "Off to new, distant lands...with Penelope waiting for me to return home." He rolled over in the bed, careful not to disrupt his now calm stomach. Melchior rolled to his side to look down at Moritz.

"You really love her, don't you Moritz?" he said, smiling. Moritz glanced at him from the corner of his eye and smiled back, nodding. "I think she really loves you, too...so can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what?"

"Is it good for you?"

"What?"

"You know what."

"No I don't, what?"

"The sex, you moron. Do you like the sex?"

"Oh. What's that to you?"

"I was just wondering."

Moritz shrugged and rolled on to his back again. The bright sunlight from the porthole window was making his head hurt. Why would Melchior ask a question like that when he already knew the answer?

"It's incredible." he said finally, his body tingling at the memory. "It's something I can't really explain. When I'm with her...I feel like I'm whole." he hesitated. "How did it feel...for you? With her?"

"Not incredible. It just felt like I was fucking her." Melchior replied dully. Moritz was jarred at his response, but decided to let him finish. "It didn't feel...incredible...until I was with...with Wendla." That made Moritz feel a little better; if he was the only one who felt that amazing feeling with Ilse, fine.

"Melchi, I'm sorry about you and Wendla." he said softly. "I wish things had turned out better."

"So do I, Moritz...thanks." Melchior said flatly. He clearly didn't want to talk anymore. That was okay. Moritz got off the bed and struggled to get his balance as the ship rocked back and forth.

"Do you...want to go on the deck? I need air." he asked hopefully. Melchior glanced over at him.

"Nah, I think I'm gonna rest down here a little bit." he replied. "I'll come up at dinnertime."

"Okay." Moritz wobbled out of the cell-like quarter, tripping over the door frame. Melchior chuckled as Moritz clumsily shut the door, before looking up at the ceiling inches away from his face.

"I miss you, Wendla." he said to himself, melancholy beginning to settle on him. "I miss your smile. I miss your eyes. I miss your hair...I miss your body. I miss your... everything." Two cold tears trailed down his face and into the pillow. "I won't let you stray from my heart, my only love. Spring is returning." He smiled weakly. "You'll be in my heart forever. You watch me. Just watch me, Wendla."

* * *

A/N: Just some male bonding over my favorite word in the Spanish language :) I LOVE that I managed to squeeze in an _Odyssey_ reference in there, since the Latin chanting in "All That's Known" is lines of _The Odyssey_! I was going to make another chapter after this where Moritz falls overboard in a storm and Melchior saves him, but I figured you all just want them to get to New York City as fast as they can. I hope I'm right! :D


	25. Ch 24 Swimming to Shore

"I'm never riding on a boat again." Moritz groaned as he stumbled off the loading dock. His legs felt like pudding and he was struggling to keep his balance. Even Melchior seemed a little off-center too.

"I'm just glad I won't have to listen to you emptying your internal organs every night." Melchior chuckled. "And just how do you expect to return to Germany?" He regained his balance rather quickly.

"I'll swim." Moritz replied curtly as he messaged his throbbing temple. How could 4 weeks on a boat make him nauseous on _land_? Never had his legs been so wobbly and weak than right now. And he was starving; since he had unfortunately upchucked everything he ate on the boat, he was eager to have the feeling of his stomach being full once again. The two boys followed the crowd from the boat off the pier down to the harbor, following it to a large building; the immigration station. The Emigrant Landing Depot was a chaotic, very noisy place with people rushing left and right and what sounded like a dozen languages being spoken at once. The two boys stood in line amidst the noise for what felt like 6 hours.

"Hear any German?" Moritz muttered to Melchior as they waited patiently. He shook his head.

"I think the staff can only speak English." he replied worriedly. "How much English do you remember from school?" Moritz strained his brain, trying to recall Herr Sonnenstich's English lessons.

"Not much...I think I can say 'Where is the bathroom?' and... 'Jack is going water-skiing'."

"Why would you remember a sentence like that?!"

"It was funny—!" But before he could make his argument, they finally reached the office desk. The lady standing behind it looked incredibly frazzled and weary, and clearly did not want to be there.

"Mein name ist Melchior Gabor. Das ist mein freund Moritz Stiefel. Wir besuchen einen freund in Manhattan." Melchior said steadily to the lady. She glared at him, annoyed.

"You speak English?" she said meanly. "ING-GUH-LISH."

"Ich spreche kein Englisch. Kannst du jemanden der Deutsch kann?" Melchior spat back. The lady looked ready to start a fight when a deep, jolly voice called out from behind the desk. In German.

"Beatrice, verlassen die Jungen allein! Kann ich für sie sorgen für Sie." said a very large, round man with a full auburn beard. Beatrice sighed and walked to another kiosk and the man took her place. "I'm sorry boys, the staff in this place isn't always the friendliest to newcomers." he said kindly to the boys, who couldn't believe their luck. "There now, what can I do for you?"

"M-m-my friend and I are here to visit a friend in Manhattan." Melchior stammered. "We don't need to register as American citizens. We can't tell you how grateful we are for helping us out."

"It's no trouble; I'm a German native myself." the man said. "Please state your name for the record books and the name of your correspondent." He pulled out a very large, chunky record book.

"I'm Melchior Gabor, and my friend is Moritz Stiefel. We are visiting Clothilde Villes." The man stopped mid-writing and glanced up at the boys, chuckling deeply with a creepy grin on his face.

"Oh-h-h, I see. Visiting Clothilde, huh?" he said, "Well, now I see what's going on here."

"You know her?" Moritz piped up. "We've been contacting her through letter for months."

"You'll have a good time, let me tell you!" he said. "Please pay the American entrance fee." Moritz quickly pulled the envelope of money out of his pocket and handed it to the man. "Enjoy New York City, boys." He said jovially. "And tell Clothilde that Hans may be paying her a visit soon!" The boys quickly fought their way out of the crowded frenzy and back onto the even more crowded pier.

"Why do you think he knows who Clothilde is?" Moritz asked as they headed up the pier to the street. "Do you think we're getting ourselves into trouble?"

"Who knows?" Melchior shrugged. "It's a little late in the game to be worried about that now. Maybe Clothilde is a well-known prostitute, or a wealthy socialite. Can't really say for sure."

"Well, I hope it's the latter!" Moritz said as they reached the street. They were astounded by the tall buildings, carriages flying past in all directions, people hustling and bustling to get somewhere.

"New York City." Melchior breathed, taking it in. "Feels like it's been waiting for you to come."

* * *

A/N: The German (and later French) translations I use in this are from Babel Fish, so they are probably very coarse and innaccorate. I apologize in advance :P I also have no idea if the Emigrant Landing Depot operates like this or if they even have to go there and pay a fee. I'm just assuming.


	26. Ch 25 Something Started Crazy

The store didn't look like much. It practically blended into the stores on either side of it. The sign above the door read "Fine Gems—All Kinds." Painted on the storefront window read "Browsers enter here. Buyers and Pickups enter in back." Melchior shrugged and started down the alley between the store and the butcher's next door. Moritz kept up behind him nervously. The alley reeked of rotten meat and trash.

"Well, we're not looking for jewelry, but with any luck she'll know who we are." Melchior reasoned as they approached a dull maroon-colored door in the back of the alley. He knocked loudly.

"_Je vous ai dit que nous sommes fermés!_" a very angry French voice rang somewhere beyond the door. "_Si vous voulez vagin si mal, de se marier ...!_" the door flew open, nearly smacking Moritz in the face. Standing there was a tall, lean old woman about in her mid-50's. She had a thick braid of fuzzy gray hair descending from the nape of her neck, over her shoulder and down to her waist. Her frail, tiny glasses perched on her slight nose did not hide her humongous, wide eyes that practically glowed blue.

"_Puis-je vous aider_?" she boomed, her French accent not able to cover her butch, gravelly voice. She was eyeing them up and down, until suddenly she caught Melchior's eyes in her shining blue headlights. Her thick red lips suddenly pulled into a huge smile, revealing big, square and white teeth.

"A Gabor, I think." She said, all the gravel washed from her throat and replaced with unexpected warmth. "I recognize those eyes anywhere." Her German was choppy and poorly spoken.

"Frau Villes?" Melchior said hesitantly. She put up a hand and shook her head.

"Clothilde." she said kindly. "Now, come inside, boys. Welcome to my home. Names?"

"I'm Melchior." Melchior said steadily, trying to make it easier for her. "This is Moritz Stiefel."

"Welcome!" she said jovially. She quickly ushered the boys through the door and inside. Moritz was shaking the entire time; this woman was scary, and she marched like a military general. The room she led them into looked like the back room of a store, very small and cramped, with loads of boxes stacked in the corner and a rickety spiral staircase in another corner. "We go up to apartments." said Clothilde, leading them up the stairs. "Your apartments on the third floor. My flat on the second floor." Through the opening in the floor, the boys were immediately transported to a different place. Clothilde's flat was adorned with hanging ceiling ornaments like glass balls and strings of lights. Large collages of newspaper photographs and headlines lined the walls. The furniture was all mismatched and eclectic, and the place was rather cramped. The dining-room table was overflowing with books.

"That's a lot of books." Melchior said admirably. He had only brought 4 or 5 of his books.

"You like? Take." Clothilde said tiredly, heading into the kitchenette in the back, "My daughter, Reine. She finish all of them. Looking for more." Melchior gaped at the pile. ALL of them?

"Reine must have a lot of spare time." Moritz commented, reading the English headlines all over the walls. Melchior glanced over the titles of the books, most of them he had never seen before.

"Tea?" Clothilde reappeared with a sliver tray with 4 different teacups and a bronze tea kettle. "You must be tired from boat ride. Please sit." She gestured to the mismatched wooden chairs around the dining table. They sat awkwardly, but Moritz tumbled out of the chair the moment he sat down. "Damn leg!" Clothilde exclaimed, reaching under the dented chair and reinserting the broken chair leg. Moritz lay there in shock for a few seconds before slowly getting up and sitting down more carefully. She handed them a teacup, which Moritz practically inhaled. It felt good to swallow confidently again. "So, how was trip?" Clothilde asked inquiringly. "You leave Germany alright?"

"Yes, thank you." Melchior said gratefully. "We were just in—" Suddenly a patter of running feet from the kitchenette interrupted them. In the doorway of the kitchenette stood a girl about their age. She was quite petite and very pale, with long, light sandy-blond hair and bright, sparking green eyes. Melchior started a little at her appearance. She was very pretty, but right now she didn't look too happy.

"Don't spill tea on my books." she said defensively, her German much better than Clothilde's. "I'm going to sell them at the library." She turned and disappeared. _That_, Melchior though, _must be Reine_.

* * *

A/N: I hope you all like Clothilde and Reine. I took a long time developing their characters so that they're not TOO stereotypical OCs, and I have really grown attached to them. I welcome critiques and comments, but if you flame my beloved characters, I'll probably issue you a stern warning and wag my finger at you. Then you'll be sorry. (Yu-Gi-Oh Abridged Series FTW)


	27. Ch 26 No Sleep in Heaven

Clothilde wasn't nearly as bad as Moritz thought. She seemed very into what was going on in Germany, and wasn't shy or hostile about talking about Melchior's late uncle Heinrich's escapades in New York.

"Very smart man, very smart." She said thoughtfully, her large blue eyes getting misty. "Always knew what was wrong, even when I said nothing. Treated Reine like his daughter. Knew how New York worked, was here years before I come with Reine." Melchior was taking in every word rapturously.

"Yes, he left Germany when I was six, but I was allowed to write him letters. My mother still loved him, but my father was stubborn, so my mother kept our letters of contact a secret." He smiled. "He taught me everything I believe in; about society, about religion...he bought me the book _Faust_."

"Reine's favorite book, _Faust_." Clothilde grinned. "One of few books she will not sell." Melchior glanced over at the kitchenette doorway, half-hoping Reine would appear again. She was very pretty. Moritz had started into his fourth cup of tea and second baguette. He hadn't spoken once.

"Hungry boy!" Clothilde said happily, ruffling Moritz's curls as he blushed and put the cup down. "Oh no, by all means! I know truly, food on boats is horrible. You must be starving!"

"Yes'm." Moritz said thickly through a mouthful of bread. He had started again at 'by all means'. Melchior grinned at his friend. He hadn't seen Moritz eat this much, not even at local Christmas feasts.

He looked around at the ornaments hanging on the wall. The sparkled as the evening sun shone through the window. Some weren't even balls; some looked like triangles and pipes. Some looked like animals.

"My glass?" Clothilde said, smiling and running her finger down a nearby red and purple ball. "I am a glass-blower. These are all my ornaments brought over from Versailles. Cannot find work here in America...they do not appreciate, so I go home in summer, make more ornaments, bring them here to sell. They appreciate the art...but not appreciate the process." The boys watched her bright eyes dim.

"I may want one to take home." Moritz said, trying to cheer her up. The effect was instant.

"You want?" Clothilde said brightly, practically jumping from her chair. "The balls are the cheapest, but if you want an animal I can drop the price for you!" Moritz blinked a couple times. This woman could jump from reflecting and thoughtful to excited and chipper in a second. It was a bit odd.

"Well, I'm not sure yet...I'll have to get money first." Moritz said meekly, slightly intimidated.

"Um, we were going to ask..." Melchior interjected. "We are willing to work in your store..."

"Oh, no!" Clothilde said quickly, shaking her finger at them. "No boys down there during working hours, unless you looking to buy!" Melchior and Moritz glanced at each other, confused.

"Do you only hire women?" Moritz inquired. Clothilde's eyebrows heightened and she nodded.

"No boys. If you want work, boys go to Algernon's down street. Do you want work for Algernon's?"

"Um, what kind of work is at Algernon's?" Melchior said. Clothilde laughed rather evilly.

"Gems!" she said brightly. "Fine gems; and you two! You are very fine gems! Priced very high!" Melchior let out a gasp of realization and clapped his hand to his forehead. Moritz still looked puzzled.

"Thank you, Clothilde." Melchior said, struggling not to laugh. "But we are not gems for sale."

"What do you mean?" Moritz asked. "We're not gems? We'll just be selling them, right?"

"Moritz, it's not jewelry." Melchior moaned, covering his smile with his hand. "It's...it's..." he couldn't control it anymore and burst out laughing. Moritz was completely confused by now.

"Clothilde, my friend is inexperienced with such things." Melchior explained, now wheezing from laughing. "He was never exposed to it back in Germany. He thinks you really do sell jewelry." Now Clothilde was laughing too. Her laugh got Reine's attention, and she poked her head out from the kitchenette. Melchior's laughter subsided as he saw her. He felt his face flush with embarrassment.

"What's so funny?" Reine asked. Her voice was rather like a piccolo; high and musical. Moritz was getting a little irritated now. He knew about most things, but not knowing this one thing was funny?

"If it's not a jewelry store, then what is it?!" he said huffily. "And why can't we work?"

"Because it's a bordello, you idiot." Reine said wearily. "She doesn't sell jewelry, she sells girls."

* * *

A/N: YES, HEINRICH WAS A PIMP AND SO IS CLOTHILDE FTW. And no, the boys will NOT be selling themselves at Algernon's *booed by fangirls* No, they will earn their money some other way that I won't exposit :P


	28. Ch 27 Some Silver Reply

_My dear Ilse,_

_I'm living in a whorehouse. I'm so scared. Clothilde owns a bordello and not a jewelry store. I have been watching hoards of girls come to the house just as night falls. I don't talk to them. I don't even leave our apartment. Melchior doesn't talk to the girls either. He spends most of his time in Clothilde's flat with Reine. They fight a lot because he wants to read the books she wants to sell to the library. The only time they don't fight is when they are reading plays together. They do it a lot. When Clothilde finds them reading together she says something in French that I can't figure out. It always makes Reine mad. Clothilde is a very nice lady though, and Melchior and I are forever grateful to her._

_I miss you every day, every hour, every minute my love. Let our child know that __it__he__she__ they are loved from beyond the sea, in the biggest city on Earth. I miss your body, I miss your smile, I miss your eyes, your hair, everything. I even miss the way you squeak too loud when I kiss your neck. I hope Hanschen is taking good care of you and keeping you safe. If he doesn't, his parents will be getting a lengthy letter in the mail sometime soon. The girls in New York are pretty, but none of them love me the way you love me. I can only hope that that love stays while I am away, and will be there when I return._

_Your ever loving,_

_Moritz_

_P.S. One of the girls who works for Clothilde is Asian. I've never seen an Asian person before. Have you? I see her walking in late every night, and Clothilde always yells at her about it in English._

* * *

_Dearest Moritz,_

_My love for you will remain long after we are both dead. You can be sure of that. Hanschen and Ernst are taking good care of me. They are sheltering me in the Rilow's summer cottage in the mountains. The alpine air is just what I and our child needed, but it's lonely out here. Ernst makes Hanschen come see me as often as possible, almost every week's end. They have been quarreling a lot recently, ever since Ernst started getting sick. I think something is quite wrong with him, and I'm so worried for him. Hanschen chooses to ignore it and act like nothing's wrong. I'm worried for him too. I really think they truly love each other like we do. It is hard to comprehend, but I don't think it's just lust. _

_I'm not worried about you living in a bordello, since it clearly scared you more than it scared me. I trust you my love, and I know you will come through for me. And for every time you are tempted, I will give you tenfold of it when you return to me. Keep that in mind when you're surrounded by pretty whores who only want your money. Just remember that that is their ultimate motivation. Just money. Remember that I love you...no matter what happens, that will never change. Your child loves you too._

_Eternally yours,_

_Ilse_

_P.S. I have never seen an Asian person before either. I hope she is not too exotically beautiful. _

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_It's amazing here in New York City. I can see why Uncle Heinrich made his home here. Clothilde has been wonderful to me and Ilse. She has been telling me stories about Heinrich and the jewelry store they built up together. I can't actually work there yet. Clothilde says I'm not old enough, but it's alright because it's giving me time to read. Reine, Clothilde's daughter, has more books than I have ever owned. She is wonderful at reading aloud, and she has been reading plays aloud with me. Shakespeare has taken on a whole new meaning for me thanks to her. She truly is wonderful, Mother. She has a horrible temper and she has radical morals that even I myself question, but she is truly wonderful. I hope Father is not too worried about me, and if he is, you can comfort him. I love you._

_Sincerely,_

_Melchior_

* * *

A/N: Yet another exposition-spewing bridging chapter :P These letters span over about a month's time, maybe a bit more...I'm no good at keeping track of the plot's timeline.


	29. Ch 28 I'm Gonna Be Your Bruise

"Why won't you just say it?" Ilse whispered fiercely to Hanschen as Ernst ran to the kitchen sink to cough more. Hanschen put on a stony grimace and folded his arms defiantly. "Ernst's really sick, Hansy." Ilse said firmly. "I think it may be serious. Why won't you admit that something is wrong?"

"It's just a cold. And I don't care, anyway." He replied, a lot louder than a whisper. "He loves me, as he should. That's all I care about." His eyes softened a little, then quickly hardened into glass. Ilse saw Ernst look up from the sink, his face twisted up in pain, but not physical pain. Emotional.

"Don't you love him back?" Ilse asked quietly. He didn't answer and turned to look out the window. Ilse stared at him desperately. Did he not love Ernst, when Ernst loved him so much?

"I think I'm done." Ernst said hoarsely from the sink. Ilse rushed over to him to check.

"Oh my God!" she cried out, clapping a hand to her mouth. Blood, and a lot of it, was splattered all over the bottom of the sink. Ernst took the dishcloth from the faucet and wiped his bloody mouth.

"It's okay, Ilse." he squeaked through the cloth, his voice crackly and tired. "It happens a lot." Ilse glanced over at Hanschen, who was still staring out the window, almost like he was forced to look. She glared daggers at him as she helped Ernst to the sofa to sit down. _How could he?_ She thought, _how could he just stand there and ignore when his lover is sick? Is Ernst really nothing but a sex toy to him?_

"How long has this been going on?" Ilse demanded. "How long have you been coughing up blood, Ernst?" Ernst looked at the floor, his big brown eyes bigger and browner against his white skin.

"A week, I think." he said weakly, looking over at Hanschen, pleading with his eyes for Hanschen to turn around and look at him. "It doesn't hurt that much, just about as much as before—"

"WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT HIM?!" Ilse burst out angrily at Hanschen. "He's coughing up blood, he's pale as snow and he's so weak you could KILL him if you're not careful! WHY WON'T—!"

"SHUT UP!!" Hanschen screamed, finally whirling his head around to stare directly at Ilse. His eyes quivered, trying not to look at Ernst sitting next to her. "There's nothing wrong with him, and it doesn't matter anyway!!" Hanschen shouted, his clenched fists shaking. "I don't care! Do you hear me, you stupid girl, I DON'T CARE!!" He stormed out of the room, outside to the front porch. Ilse watched him leave in shock, as Ernst covered his face with his hands. The ringing silence broke by his crying.

"Oh, Ernst..." Ilse quickly sat down next to him and rubbed his back gently. "Ernst, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to upset you, I'm just so worried..." she rested her head on his shoulder, unable to finish.

"It's okay, Ilse." Ernst said shakily, brushing away the tears. "I'm not mad at you...I just...wish I had the strength to say what you just said..." His voice cracked a little. "He's become so cold and mean, when we're alone together he just stares at me the entire time. When I try to talk during...he just tells me to shut up. I can't...can't do it as long as I did before, and he just pins me there until he's done..."

"Ernst, leave him." Ilse said earnestly. She glanced out the window to see Hanschen pacing up and down the porch. She couldn't see his face. "Hanschen never committed himself to one m—person. For as long as I've known him, he's never been able to have a true relationship. Just let him be on his—"

"Never!" Ernst cried, turning to look at Ilse. His face was hard and angry. "I'll never leave him!"

"Ernst!" Ilse said irritably, "He's treating you like an animal!"

"I don't care—I love him!" Ernst said defiantly. "I know he loves me...I know he does! He's just scared, that's all...whenever he gets scared, he shuts off completely and turns into...into a wild beast, an animal with no emotions, just...desires. Ilse..." he looked at Ilse tentatively, "If Moritz starts acting different when he returns, or after you have your baby...would you just leave him?" Ilse caressed her 5-month pregnant stomach and her head spun at the thought. Ernst's coughing pulled her out of thought.

"No..." she said finally. "...never." Ernst smiled at her and put the bloody kerchief in his pocket.

"I love Hanschen. No matter what he does, my feelings will never change." he said proudly. Then his head lowered a little. "Someday...someday he won't be scared to admit that he loves me too." Ilse felt her heart tighten with fear. She hoped someday was soon...or Ernst wouldn't be there to hear it.

* * *

A/N: Yes, Ernst is sick and Hanschen's being a douchebag about it. Don't worry, things will get better...kind of...*sniff*


	30. Ch 29 Give Me That Hand Please

"Will you just bulk up and be a man?" Reine said impatiently. "They're just girls, not crazy animals!" Melchior and Moritz lingered in the doorway, still hesitant. Reine had been insisting that the boys come down and meet the girls that worked for Clothilde, since she was friends with them.

"I don't want to get hounded by girls who want my money." Moritz said meekly.

"They don't want _your_ money." Reine said wearily. "They all know you've been here for weeks."

"WHAT?!" Melchior exclaimed, "You told them?! We go down there and they'll be all over—!"

"I _told_ them to leave you alone." Reine snapped. "They're not beasts who are all after money and sex, they're _humans_! They're friendly, they're all different, they have dreams and ambitions, and _lives_!" Melchior was watching Reine shout the whole time. Her eyes glittered, her cheeks were flushed pink.

"You're cute when you yell." Melchior said smugly. **WHACK!** He had said the wrong thing.

"You never listen to a word I say!" Reine yelled. "You're so...so..._**misogynistic**_!" she stomped through the door and slammed it behind her. Melchior winced as he tried to touch his neon-red cheek.

"What does that mean?" Moritz asked as the ringing silence died out. Melchior shook his head.

"It means I'm disrespectful to women." he replied huffily. "And I'm not; I just don't wanna associate with prostitutes! I guess you don't either, right?" Moritz shrugged his shoulders.

"I just keep thinking about Ilse, and how she'll feel if I'm surrounded by pretty girls who want to sleep with me." Melchior chuckled at the image of Ilse pummeling Moritz into a bloody pulp.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing." Melchior sighed, rubbing his cheek. He grabbed his shoes from beside the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" Moritz asked worriedly. "You're not actually _going,_ are you?!"

"If I don't, Reine will hold that misogynist thing against me as long we're here." he replied.

"_So?_" Moritz cried frantically. "It's not like we're ever gonna see her again, right...?" he stopped as he saw Melchior's face. He looked rather uncomfortable, and was scratching his head in thought. "Melchi..." he said softly. "Do you...do you like Reine?" Melchior continued to lace up his shoes.

"I've never met anyone with the same morals...or bad temper...as me." he said, smiling a little. "I may like her...just a little." Moritz watched him finish lacing his shoes, before finally getting his own. "You coming too?" Melchior said, "You don't have to, you know."

"I know, Melchi." he said, grinning. "I didn't really have to flee with you to America either." Melchior smiled at his best friend. "Besides, if I don't wrestle with temptation now, I might not be able to later." Melchior nodded in agreement. "And if I get...you know, swept up...you'll rescue me, right?"

"Don't worry, I'll sic Reine and Clothilde on them." Melchior joked. "You know how much they love hearing about you and Ilse, they'll destroy anything that gets in the way of you two."

"Why do you think they like hearing about us so much?" Moritz asked. "They ask a lot of questions and wanna know every detail. I think it's a little invasive."

"They're romantics, Moritz." Melchior replied as he waited for Moritz to put his shoes on. "The French love that kind of stuff. They're idea of love is a little more...well, radical than back in Germany."

"Clearly." Moritz muttered, standing back up. "Well, I still don't see why they need to know how long it takes for me to make Ilse...you know...um...they called it 'climax'..." Melchior burst out laughing.

"They _asked _you that?!" he wheezed between laughs, "_Really_?"

"Yeah, both of them." Moritz said, slightly put out at Melchior's laughing. "Together, actually."

"That's ridiculous." Melchior gasped, catching his breath. "Did you tell them?"

"I...kind of couldn't." Moritz said, embarrassed. "I...I really didn't know. I had to think about it." Melchior laughed again, before taking a deep breath and opening the door to the stairwell downstairs. He glanced back at Moritz, who was right behind him. His hands were shaking, but he was ready to go.

"So...how long does it take?"

"What…oh, that. About ten minutes."

* * *

A/N: More male bonding :) And Reine is pretty much like a tomboyish 9-year-old when it comes to boys; when she whacks you and calls you a misogynist, it means she really likes you :D And who else but the French would ask a question like that?


	31. Ch 30 Some Little Tease

The girls really weren't sex-crazed beasts, or money-lusting gold-diggers. But they sure were gorgeous.

"You vere right, Reine!" One of them said, stroking Melchior's chest with her index finger. "He is de cuter von!" Melchior flushed bright red and felt the hairs on the back of his neck perk up straight. Her accent was sultry and deep, and he could only guess it was Russian.

"Ah don' know what yer talkin' about, Olga." Another one with an Irish accent piped in, coddling Moritz's cheek in her large, pale hand, "Thissun is cuter than a wee kitten!" Moritz squirmed. He had never had this much attention before, except perhaps at his grandmother's house. Only this attention was WAY different. Everywhere he turned, he saw beautiful girls and felt nervous and sweaty.

"GIRLS!" Clothilde's voice boomed from the near the back door, "Get back to work!" _Thank God for Clothilde_, Moritz thought as the girls begrudgingly went back to their respective tables. Melchior was glad for the relief, but now had time to notice the men that came into the bordello, which he wasn't too happy about. Fat, ugly drunkards and slimy, ratty criminals were the main customers. These girls were way too beautiful and good for such disgusting men. What were they even doing here?

"Late again!" Melchior heard Clothilde shout from across the room. "Keep up and you're fired!"

"I'm terring you, I get harassed on the way ovah!" a high-pitched voice shot back. "You want me here on time? Get me an escort!" Moritz turned to see the same Asian girl that he kept seeing enter late. She was just as pretty as she was from a distance; she had a very slim, lean figure with a heart-shaped face and black hair that shone like a crow's wing. He watched her in fascination; she looked so strange. She was wearing a weird red dress that covered her neck but not her shoulders, and it was hemmed with gold and was covered with gold patterns that he could only assume were Chinese symbols. He also noticed a black Chinese symbol inked on her shoulder. Even her shoes were weird; they were wooden.

"What are _you_ rooking at?" He quickly reared his head in another direction when she saw him. Too late; she was marching over towards him. He started rubbing his hands nervously on the table. "Well, you're pretty young foh a customah." she said. Her voice was squeaky and her accent was soft. "How old are you? Foahteen?" She was already climbing on the table, gripping the sides.

"F-f-f-fifteen." he stuttered, sweating like a pig. "I-I-I-I'm not really a c-c-c-customer..."

"MING-WEI!" Clothilde shouted. Saved by the French. "He's not a customer! Go to work!"

"Ming-Wei?" Moritz repeated. What a weird name.

"Yes, I am Ming-Wei." she said, quickly climbing off the table. "You one of dere keeds?" She gestured to the girls around them. He shook his head fervently, accidentally giving himself whiplash.

"I-I-I-I'm visiting..." he said shakily. "I-I-I-I'm living with C-C-Clothilde..."

"Aren't you cute?" Ming-Wei said jokingly, ruffling his hair affectionately. "You don' have to be nervous. You are way too young foh me, anyway." She strode to another table accompanied by a man.

"Exotic, isn't she?" Melchior said as he came and sat down next to Moritz. "She's the first Asian person I've seen since arriving here. That Rifkah girl is from Germany too, who would've guessed?" Rifkah was Reine's best friend among the girls. She was a well-endowed girl with frizzy whitish-blonde hair and a round, freckly face. She was the youngest of the girls, and was the newest girl in the bordello.

"It's strange." Moritz said as they watched Rifkah charm a drunken fool. "These girls could all be doing better things...they all seem smart. Why are they reducing themselves to this?"

"Because it hawd to make a livin' here." a voice behind them replied. They turned to see Giselle, an African girl with skin the color of dark chocolate and thick braids of dulled black hair. "America ain't all dreams 'n money. It jus' like any othah country; you gotta work fo' it, long n' hard."

"Then why do people call it the land of promise," Moritz asked. "When you still have to work?"

"Men always gonna hafta work, sweetie pie." Giselle said sweetly, again ruffling Moritz's hair. What was with older women and his hair? His own mother never mussed up his hair this much before. "You boys keep that'n mind when you go on home. Here in America, some bozo get lucky, hit it big. Then some other bozo get lucky, then 'nother and 'nother. Others start thinkin' this place lucky. It ain't."

* * *

A/N: I suck at accents. I apologize if I offended anyone :P The character of Rifkah is based on my roommate, Elizabeth West (read her HP fics!)


	32. Ch 31 You're Gonna Be Wounded

The bordello wasn't nearly as dirty as Melchior and Moritz thought. There weren't couples having loud sex on the tables or women spreading their legs everywhere. There were hardly any brawls or bar fights. Except when Burly Bertrand came. Bertrand came to the bordello less often than the other customers, but when he showed up it was like the entire place was on lock-down. Once Bertrand had a few pints in him, the littlest thing would set him off; an odd glance, resistance from his girl, someone interrupting...

"That's not true." a sharp voice rang across the bar. Bertrand stopped mid-sentence and blinked.

"Who's the dead man who said that?" he growled, his British accent thicker with the alcohol.

"Melchi, don't do it." Moritz whispered, grabbing Melchior's shoulder. Melchior shook him off.

"I said that's not true." Melchior said again, standing up from the table in the back corner. Bertrand leaned against the bar and looked around the room. He spotted Melchior standing alone.

"What's this?" he said, chuckling. "A little baby boy? Well, what were you sayin', baby boy?"

"I said that what you said...it's not true." Melchior said, his clenched fists quivering at his side. "Not all women are whores. Their purpose in life is not to breed like dogs." Reine, tending bar, watched Melchior nervously while quickly grabbing all of the empty pints off the table and under the bar.

"Whassat, now? A mama's boy, are you?" Bertrand guffawed. He was bumbling between tables and knocking over empty chairs to reach Melchior. Reine felt her heart twist and writhe with fear. Her green eyes grew wide and her lower lip started to tremble. Melchior gave her a reassuring nod. "Well, mama's boy, lemme tell you a little secret. You precious mama was spreadin' her legs to yer father to get you into this here world! How do you like that, mama's boy?" Melchior clenched his jaw and felt his nails digging into his palm, but he kept perfectly still. "That not phase you, boy? You must already know it then." Bertrand said, his nasty rotten teeth forming a gruesome smile. A small glint from Melchior's neck caught his attention. In an aggressive whirl, Bertrand had swiped something off him. "What's this, now? A little trinket from your whore mother?" Bertrand was dangling a small silver cross on a chain in his large, hairy hand. Melchior's eyes widened and his hands flew to his neck.

"Give that back." Melchior said steadily, barely controlling his rage. "It's very important to me."

"This here's a girl's necklace!" Bertrand said obnoxiously. "What, a little trinket from your little German whore-bitch?" That was it. Before he could stop himself, Melchior let his fist collide with Bertrand's thick gut. It wasn't very forceful, but it was very intense. Instead of flying backwards, Bertrand let out a howl like an angry dog and folded over like a piece of paper to the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Melchior didn't hear it; he dropped to his knees and scooped up the thin silver chain Bertrand had dropped. He sighed with relief as he saw the cross charm still on it.

"Melchior!" Reine ran out from behind the bar and knelt next to him. "Melchior, are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." he said, shaking his hand out. "Hand's a little sore." **WHACK!** Said the wrong thing.

"That's what you get for provoking Burly!" she exclaimed angrily. He rubbed his flaming cheek.

"Will you quit doing that?" he said irritably, slipping the silver chain over his head. "By the time I return home, people will think I've been stung by hornets!" Reine stuck her tongue out at him.

"Then quit acting like a blithering idiot!" she said matter-of-fact. "What is that thing, anyway?"

"It's nothing." he said quickly, thrusting the charm underneath his shirt.

"Nothing that was worth nearly getting killed by Burly for?" Reine kicked Burly's lumpy form on the ground, and he let out a whimper before helping Melchior to his feet. His hand remained on his chest, protectively covering the cross. Reine watched him as he meandered back to the table with Moritz. Moritz's mouth was hanging open in shock at the scene that just happened.

"What was _**that**_?" Moritz squawked as Melchior sat down. "Did you just get in a brawl fight?!"

"Close your mouth, you look like a bass." Melchior replied.

"Oh _come on_!!" Moritz jabbed Melchior's arm pleadingly. "I've never seen that charm before!"

"I wear it under my shirt most of the time." Melchior said gravely. "Wendla gave it to me."

* * *

"You did not expect Bertland to come back and beat you senseress?" Ming-Wei sniggered as she placed a wet cloth on Moritz's black eye. He winced as it made contact, as it was still throbbing with pain.

"Why did_** I**_ have to get punched?" Moritz whined, biting his already swollen lip. "I didn't say anything to that great ape and he does a jig on my face!" Ming-Wei held in another laugh as she swabbed the bloody treacle from above Moritz's eye. For a whining ninny, he sure was a cute little guy.

"Ow-w-w-w!!" Melchior howled from the table behind them, where Reine had propped him up.

"Oh hold still, you big baby..." Reine said impatiently, wrapping his arm slowly with great dexterity. "You're lucky it's not broken. He could've snapped it off if Mama hadn't thrown him out."

"You were the one that kicked him while he was down." Melchior grumbled, nursing his arm. "Why didn't you bring that up while he was stringing me up by one arm?" Reine shrugged a little.

"He can do way more damage to me than he can to you." Reine replied. "I'm delicate."

"Bull. Shit." Melchior scowled. Reine looked ready to whack him, but he was so pathetic-looking she couldn't do it. She just pulled his bandages tauter, making him squawk like a hurt parrot. Moritz heard a rustling of clothes as the front door swung open. A small group of the girls fled in.

"We heah some commotion goin' on heah!" Giselle said frantically, "Clotty say you's hurt?"

"Oh, ya poor things!" Bronwyn cried, clutching her red hair in her white hands. The girls flocked around the boys, stroking their wounds and asking loads of questions.

"GIRLS!" Clothilde's voice boomed as she entered from the back of the store. "I told you all to go home early! I scuttle you out when Bertrand make a scene!"

"But vee vanna know vat happened!" Olga whined, pouting her lip. "Vee never have any fun!"

"You call THIS fun?!" Moritz exclaimed, pointing to his swollen eye. "Well then fun _hurts_!"

"You have NO idea." Rifkah muttered, grinning. Clothilde loudly clapped her hands twice.

"Out!" she barked, "All out! Get juicy details tomorrow!" All the girls groaned like children.

"It's okay, Clothilde, really." Melchior said, thoroughly loving the attention and the fuming face Reine was making. "I'll tell them everything, I'm okay." The girls perked back up and gathered around the table Melchior was lying on, leaving Moritz and Ming-Wei in the dust. Clothilde glared at him and threw up her hands in defeat. She trudged back up the stairs, waving her hand in goodnight.

"What a peacock." Ming-Wei giggled, shoving a steak into Moritz's eye socket. "Hold still!"

"OWIE...what's peacock?" he gasped, grabbing the steak from her forceful, shoving hand and holding it on himself. She blinked a few times before laughing hysterically.

"You don' know what a peacock is?" she said between laughs, "It's a leetle bird with huge, cororfur fedders that it stluts and shows off to evelyone. Onree boys have cororfur fedders, too."

"Why don't the girls have colorful feathers?" Moritz inquired, thoroughly interested.

"The femares don' need fedders. They must brend into nests to plotect the eggs." Moritz nodded in understanding; the boys needed to impress the females, instead of the females charming the boys.

"We don't have peacocks in Germany." he said thoughtfully. "Nothing very colorful, anyway."

"Maybe jus' one." Ming-Wei snickered, glancing at Melchior. He was trying to reenact the kick he gave Burly, still sitting down. Moritz pouted and folded his arms, annoyed. Ming-Wei smiled at him.

"Jealous, leetle Moritz?" Ming-Wei said kindly, tilting his face up with her soft, little hands. He felt his body quiver involuntarily. Ming-Wei was a beautiful woman; exotic, mysterious and beautiful.

"Not...really..." he stammered. He felt his palms begin to sweat. He had been so proud of himself for not lusting after any of the girls in the bordello, but the sad truth was...he hadn't had sex in months. He missed Ilse a lot, but no matter how hard he longed after her, she wasn't going to appear.

"Don' be nervous, Moritz." Ming-Wei cooed, stroking his lower lip with her finger. He liked the way she said his name; Moh-litz. "I do my job...I make you happy." She leaned in, uncomfortably close.

"Moritz!" Melchior shouted suddenly, catching wind of what was happening. "We should go."

* * *

A/N: Saved by the radical; good job, Melchior! :D There's not gonna be much more between Ming-Wei and Moritz, just this little temptation for Moritz to wrestle with...and fail :P Melchior seems like the type who would get a barfight, right? It's those darn radical beliefs of his!


	33. Ch 32 Nothing Going Wild In You

"Will you stop glaring at me?!" Moritz yelled angrily, turning away from Melchior's staring daggers. "Nothing happened, and I swear by God, nothing was _going_ to happen!" He pulled his sheets over his head and flopped back down on his cot. Melchior sighed and massaged his temple with both hands.

"I promised Ilse that I would keep you from pretty women, and I have kept my promise." he said slowly, irritation lacing his voice. "But you need to learn how to fight these temptations on your own."

"I have been good!" Moritz argued, his voice muffled through the thick sheets. "I fought Bronwyn off of me, didn't I?" Melchior shifted in his cot uncomfortably.

"That was because I told her you were...impotent." he muttered. Moritz shot up in the cot.

"WHAT?!" he shouted, yanking the sheet off his face, now red and livid. "IMPOTENT?!"

"What?" Melchior said defensively, shrugging his shoulders. "She got off your case, right?" Moritz couldn't argue with that, but that didn't stop him from crossing his arms in an angry huff. "Oh, stop pouting." Melchior scolded sarcastically. "I know you're not impotent in the slightest."

"You're damn right I'm not." Moritz huffed under his breath, sliding back under the sheets.

"Look, I know you're getting antsy being away from Ilse, but hopefully it won't be for much longer." Melchior said. "The last letter from my mother said the reformatory has stopped looking for me. It's only a matter of time before the investigation drops. Why don't I tell Clothilde and Reine that Ming-Wei is bothering you? They'll clear things up."

"No, I don't want her fired...or dead. I'll just tell her about Ilse...she'll understand. She's nice." Moritz rolled over towards Melchior's cot. "Ilse told me in her last letter that Ernst has consumption."

"Really?" Melchior glanced up, a spark of worry in his eyes. "But he's so little and...weak."

"I know. Ilse's terrified of him dying, and Hanschen's only making it worse."

"I thought Hanschen loved Ernst." Melchior inquired, remembering the night he found them.

"Ilse said that _Ernst_ says Hanschen_ does_ love him, but he can't face Ernst sick like this. His mother died of consumption too, remember?" Melchior nodded. He remembered going to Frau Rilow's funeral with his parents. Hanschen's face was as hard, cold and unmoving as stone the entire service. He wore the same face at his father's wedding to his new stepmother, who he refused to speak to.

"I guess Hanschen reacts with ice rather than tears." Melchior said thoughtfully. "I hope Ernst can melt his heart before...you know...it's too late." Moritz felt his stomach churn slightly. Poor Ernst.

"Do you think Ernst is going to die, Melchi?" He asked anxiously.

"He's so small and weak, Moritz." Melchior replied. "He was always missing school because of his poor health. Consumption is huge, Moritz, it kills healthy people." Moritz's stomach churned again.

"Maybe Ilse shouldn't be near Ernst...she could get it from him, and with the baby coming..."

"You're not going to get Ilse away from Ernst." Melchior said, smiling slightly. "She's one stubborn girl, and excluding his family, Ernst's only friends were us and...Hanschen." Moritz sighed.

"I want to go back, Melchi." he said quietly. "Even if...even if you don't want to." Melchior glanced over at Moritz. They looked at each other for a bit, until Melchior sighed and grinned at him.

"I do love it here, don't I?" he said. "This place....I don't know...fits me."

"It really does." Moritz agreed, smiling. "You always seemed so out of place in Germany, but here, you fit right in." Moritz hesitated a little, then finally added, "And you and Reine fit together too." Melchior blinked a couple times, taken aback by such a brash thing coming out of Moritz.

"I guess we do..." he said, trailing off. "But...but Wendla..." he rolled over to the other side of his cot. Moritz felt bad for making Melchior think of Wendla, but he didn't want to take back what he said; Reine may be huffy and quick-tempered, but every time she was reading Shakespeare or Marlowe with Melchior, her voice softened and her sharp, sarcastic wit vanished. He also took to noticing that when Rifkah or Olga talked with Melchior in the bordello, Reine would make Giselle tend bar and go to stand beside Melchior, clutching his arm like a protective lioness. It was only a matter of time.

* * *

A/N: More male bonding, and yes, Ernst has tuberculosis. For those of you who don't know, tuberculosis is what Satine had in _Moulin Rouge!_ and what Fantine had in _Les Miserables_. He just seems so small and weak that it just made sense for him to be in poor health. And no offense to the glomp-worthy Gideon Glick, but was pale as a ghost as Ernst, so I rest my case. Don't worry, Hanschen's douchebaggery won't last much longer :)


	34. Ch 33 The Bitch of Living

The next day, Clothilde and Reine woke the boys by loudly rapping on their door nonstop for 4 minutes.

"Mail call!" Reine shouted through the door. "Moritz got another letter!" Moritz, who had been sleepily lumbering towards the door, perked up and picked up the pace as he reached the door. Reine shoved the letter at him before pushing past him into their flat. "Is Melchior still asleep? Lazy crust!"

"From Ilse?" Clothilde asked as she brought in a tray with coffee with biscuits. Moritz had torn open the letter and nodded as he walked off towards the window to read it better in the morning light. Clothilde sat down at their small table as she listened to Reine pull Melchior out of bed.

"Get up, you bum!" Reine was shouting. "You promised you'd read _Hamlet_ with me!"

"Go away, I'll read it with you later!" Melchior groaned, "Lemme sleep, you dream-killer!"

"We need to start reading _now_!" Reine shouted, "A performance of Hamlet is five hours long!" Melchior groaned loudly and Clothilde heard a loud thump as Melchior dragged himself out of bed. She smiled to herself; Melchior reminded her so much of her lost Heinrich, and Reine was taking after her more and more. Watching them together was like watching her time with Heinrich played out in front of her. Melchior was a strong, dependable boy. A good boy. But she had to test the waters, just a little.

"Let him eat some breakfast, darling!" Clothilde called, "I made some biscuits today!" Melchior's footsteps picked up when she mentioned breakfast. Reine stomped out of his room, annoyed.

"Mama, pour quoi les hommes sont si paresseux et négligents?" Reine whined, exasperated.

"Ils ne seraient pas si vous avez été si fortes et exigeantes." Clothilde said coolly. Reine glared at her, and marched out the door and downstairs. Clothilde grinned. Good, she's gone. Now she could test. Melchior lumbered out of the washroom, his shirt a little wrinkled and his hair still damp from washing his face. He gestured to Moritz that the washroom was his, and Moritz disappeared, letter still in hand. He sat down tentatively next to Clothilde, who smiled and offered him a cup of coffee. He took it.

"So, _Hamlet_ today?" Clothilde said calmly. "This is last Shakespeare you read, yes?"

"Yes." he replied, taking a sip of coffee. "She wanted to save this one for last. It's her favorite."

"It's nice that she share that with you." Clothilde said, still calm. "She not share with many." Melchior didn't really know how to reply, but there was something he'd been meaning to ask Clothilde and this conversation seemed to be rearing towards that question. He took in a deep breath.

"Clothilde..." he said nervously, "I want to ask you something...about your...your daughter..."

"You're nowhere near good enough for her, you know that?" Melchior jumped a little at the sharpness of her voice all of a sudden. Her face hadn't moved; the transformation was all in her voice. She suddenly grinned at him, and he didn't know whether to grin back or not. Was she kidding? "And if you hurt her, I'll feed you my special soup that will put you in a coma for 4 days." She wasn't kidding. "Then I'm going to bury you under the store and cover your body in lice, so when you wake up you'll be dissolving." Melchior felt his stomach drop and his mouth dry up.

"...uh..." he squeaked. He'd never been so scared in his life. This woman could kill him. This woman WILL kill him, she just threatened to do so! "Uh...um...okay...I won't...I won't do..." He heard the toilet flush and Moritz walked out, his hair damp like his.

"Have a biscuit, dear." Clothilde said kindly, all of the scary in her voice completely gone. "Did you want sugar in your coffee?" She flashed her blue headlight eyes at him before whisking out of the room. Melchior didn't move. He was frozen with fear. Moritz sat down at the table and saw his face.

"Good God, Melchi, what the heck happened to you?" Moritz asked, fighting off laughter. "You look like someone threatened your life with a spoon!" Melchior didn't respond to the joke. Moritz cocked his head to one side and his brow furrowed. "What happened, Melchi?"

"Moritz...I never believed in God." he said. Moritz stared at him blankly. "And now...now I'm living with the _Devil_!" Melchior leaned forward and put his head in his hands. "Any news from home?"

"Well..." Moritz said, his voice suddenly laden with concern. "Ernst was taken to the hospital."

* * *

A/N: And _this_ is why I love Clothilde Villes :D The threat she made is from a bit of comedy by Christopher Titus, who I highly recommend you look up and watch, he is HILARIOUS.


	35. Ch 34 The Shadows Bring the Starlight

Hanschen was losing feeling in his right hand as Ilse clutched his arm tight. She waddled down the hospital hallway, her other arm around her 6-month pregnant stomach. She felt so much larger than 6.

"Ilse, I hate hospitals." he muttered to her. "When do we get out of here?"

"I told you, I have some bleeding!" Ilse whined. "I just want a doctor to look at me, that's all."

"Good, because the sooner we get—" He stopped cold. Ilse had dragged him in front of a hospital door with the numbers 107 on the front. Under the numbers was _Robel, Ernst_. "Ilse, what—"

"Sorry for lying," Ilse said quickly as she flung the door open, "But he's been asking for you." She shoved him through the door and shut it, all in under a second. Hanschen nearly fell as she swiftly locked the door. Ernst had been begging for Hanschen to come see him, and this was the only way to make him.

"Ilse, you bitch!" Hanschen shouted, rattling the doorknob and banging on the door with his fist. "You let me out of here! I'll kill you! When I get out of here, I'll throttle you like a chicken...!"

"Hanschen?" He felt his blood freeze in his veins at the sound of that soft, angelic voice. No. He wouldn't stand for this. He kept steadfast, facing the door. "Oh, Hanschen, I'm so happy to see you...!"

"Ilse locked the door." he spat angrily, still rattling the knob. "God damn it!"

"Won't you please turn around?" Ernst pleaded, so weak it was almost a whisper, "Please...?" He suddenly flew into a coughing fit. The loud, violent hacks sounded unreal coming out of little Ernst. Hanschen couldn't help but turn around, hearing those awful sounds. Ernst was coughing into a white kerchief. When he was done coughing, he looked up to see Hanschen staring at him. His face broke into a happy smile, only for Hanschen to see the blood on his lips and teeth. And the kerchief was now stained red.

"Dear God...!" Hanschen felt his stomach tighten and he turned back towards the door, banging even harder now. He had to get out, he had to get away. This wasn't happening, not again. He wouldn't let it happen again. "Ilse! ILSE! You horrid bitch, let me out! You don't understand, LET ME OUT...!"

"Hanschen!" Ernst cried weakly, his voice cracking. "Hanschen please, you're being ridiculous!"

"SHUT UP!" Hanschen didn't turn around, but Ernst heard his voice crack and saw his fists clench against the door. "You don't talk! Call her back! Get her to let me out! DO IT NOW, ERNST!!!" Ilse held strong against the front of the door. Hanschen probably _would_ kill her if she let him out now. "Ilse...Ilse..." Hanschen's voice was getting weaker. So was his resolve. "Ilse...please...let me out..."

"Not until you talk to him!" Ilse shouted, her back against the door. She fought back her tears. Hanschen heard something soft that lulled his desperate anger...it was Ernst's crying. He finally let his clenched fists drop, and turned around. Ernst felt his heart leap as Hanschen face him, but his heart dropped again when he saw that Hanschen wasn't looking at him at all. He was looking at everything in the room _but_ him as he meandered to the chair next to Ernst's bed. He sat down, still not looking at him.

"All _right_!" Hanschen shouted at the door. "I'm going to talk to him!" He still didn't look at him.

"Hanschen..." Ernst stuttered through his tears, reaching out and putting his hand on Hanschen's, folded in his lap. Hanschen shuddered and wrenched his hand away, almost painfully. Ernst stopped crying. "_Hanschen_...!" he said a little more firmly, this time grabbing Hanschen's strong hands with his weak, pale one. "Hanschen, look at me." he said, his weak, brittle voice stronger than before. He didn't. Now Hanschen was facing straight ahead, his eyes shut tight and his lower lip quivering. "Hanschen..." Ernst let go of Hanschen's hand. He shakily lifted his hand up to Hanschen's cheek, stroking him gently. This was too much; as Ernst's hand began to drop, Hanschen grabbed it with his own and held it to his cheek, as the tears he kept stubbornly inside rose to the surface. He felt his whole body begin to heave.

"I...I..." he stammered between sobs, his upper body beginning to shake. "I... don't like this...!" Ernst felt his heart explode with love as he watched Hanschen cry. He'd never seen him cry before, ever. He mustered as much strength as he could and inched towards Hanschen's chair, enough to put his arms around his torso and nuzzle his head into his shoulder. Hanschen buried his face into Ernst's dark hair.

"I know, I know, I love you..." Ernst murmured, pulling Hanschen into a long, passionate kiss.

* * *

A/N: See, even a douche like Hanschen is capable of heartwrenching emotion :3 So that pretty much wraps up the Ernst/Hanschen oneshot, which means the fic is almost over! I can see the finish line!! :D


	36. Ch 35 Spring Returning

_My dear Moritz,_

_Hanschen and Ernst finally reconciled. I am so happy for them, and Ernst can now be with his love in his final days. He told me the doctors think he won't last the winter, if he lives that long. But I think with Hanschen with him, he will live a little longer than expected. I am praying every night that he pulls through. Hanschen is trying to be strong for Ernst, but I catch him crying a lot now. It makes me happy watching them together. It reminds me of our love. I am in a lot of pain now and I can barely walk, but thinking of you makes me strong, and the pain goes away. I have been keeping in touch with your mother, and we both eagerly await your return home. We think it will be very soon. I pray so. I have decided on a name for our baby if we have a girl. I want to name her Wendla. If we have a boy, I want to name him Goteleib, unless Ernst does not pull through, then I want to name him after Ernst._

_I love you,_

_Ilse_

* * *

_My son,_

_The investigation has been dropped by the police. They assume that you are dead. Your father was so distraught that I had to tell him the truth. He had a very hard time accepting it until I showed him all of the letters we have sent to each other. He too is anxiously waiting your return home, but he is still mad at me for keeping it a secret for so long. Hopefully he will calm down before you return, which I pray will be soon. I keep reading the way to write about Reine, and I must say what I've been believing for a while now...you are in love with her, Melchior Gabor. I must insist that you bring her back to Germany so that your father and I can meet her. She sounds like an absolutely wonderful girl, but of course I must see for myself. Please come home soon, my son. Your father and I miss you so much. We love you._

_Sincerely,_

_Mother_

* * *

_Mother,_

_I am not bringing Reine home with me. Her mother would kill me. I am anxious to return home to you and Father, but I am so at home here in America that it will be a difficult departure. You were right, Mother, I do love Reine. I've never met anyone so much like me. And when she smiles while we are reading plays, she reminds me of Wendla. Every time I see her smile, I see Wendla. I have been able to talk to her about Wendla more freely now, and she seems to be a lot gentler around me now. I almost miss her sharp wit. She and Clothilde are not looking forward to sending me and __M-__ Ilse off, but I have a feeling that I will be back someday. Please don't try to argue with me, Mother. I will be returning to America someday. Hopefully I will be home soon, so my return home will be longer than I wish. _

_Love your son,_

_Melchior_

* * *

_My love Ilse,_

_I will be returning home soon. We have saved enough money working in the butcher's next to Clothilde's bordello to buy tickets for an ocean-liner to Germany. We should be leaving in a few weeks. I will miss New York City, but I am too anxious to return home to you to miss it too much. Melchi does not seem as happy to return as I am. I think he wants to stay with Reine, although I have noticed that he has been avoiding Clothilde and the bordello like the plague. Clothilde seems almost happy about it. A lot of the girls in the bordello have become good friends of mine, and I will miss them. Ming-Wei wishes us luck with our child. I love the names you have picked for our child. You must be at least 8 months now. Stay strong, I promise I'll be home in time. Tell Ernst to stay strong. I love you so much._

_Moritz_

* * *

A/N: Please excuse me while I cram a buttload of exposition into a few corresponding letters because I can't wait for this to be done with!! :D


	37. Ch 36 Too Unreal All This

_Crash!_ Hanschen jumped at the sound and glanced behind him. Ilse had dropped her glass of water. Ernst sat up in his hospital bed, the white kerchief still in his mouth to help muffle his coughing.

"My water broke." she squeaked.

"I can see that." Hanschen said wittily. He rolled Ernst's wheelchair to the edge of Ernst's bed. "We'll get you another when we leave. Come on Ernst, get in. We're gonna miss the boys' arrival home."

"No, I mean REALLY, MY WATER BROKE!!!" Ilse screamed, clutching her huge stomach. She started screaming like a wounded animal and her knees sagged under the massive ball of flesh. Hanschen's face went completely blank. Ernst gasped and his hands flew to his mouth in excitement.

"Oh my God, that means the baby's coming! The baby's coming!" he cried. Hanschen blinked, then rolled his eyes annoyingly. Of all times for her stupid baby to want to be born. Really, why now?

"Your timing is impeccable, Ilse." He said, rolling the wheelchair around Ernst's bed and towards her. "You're so huge, we've been waiting for you to pop for weeks now!" Ilse wasn't listening to him. She was screaming like a banshee now, but she managed to fall into the wheelchair clumsily.

"I WANTED TO SEE MORITZ!!!" She screamed, tears running down her face. "I WANT TO SEE MORITZ!!" Hanschen looked up at Ernst desperately. He had no idea what to do, or who to call.

"Get a nurse, get her over to me!" Ernst said quickly. Hanschen shoved the wheelchair at Ernst's bed and ran to the door. The wheelchair slammed into the side of the bed with a jolt. Ernst quickly grabbed Ilse's hands as she screamed in his face. "You have to calm down, Ilse!" he said firmly. Ilse stopped screaming and shuddered from the pain of her first contraction. Her face was red and wet. "It's going to be okay, Ilse." Ernst said softly. "This is a happy time; your baby is being born!" Ilse shuddered a little, but nodded and tried to smile through the pain. Suddenly a large, chubby nurse ran into the room, nearly knocking Hanschen down in the process. She had big red lips and bright red hair.

"Oh dear, oh dear! She's gone into labor!" The nurse cried, grabbing the wheelchair handles. "Come on dear, we have to get you to a room and get you settled! My goodness, you're quite big!"

"I AM NOT FAT!!" Ilse shouted as the nurse rolled her down the hallway. "I DON'T WANT TO HAVE MY BABY TODAY!! I'M SUPPOSED TO BE AT THE TRAIN STATION RIGHT NOW!!!" Hanschen and Ernst watched the nurse roll Ilse away. They stared at each other blankly for a minute.

"Well, now what?" Hanschen groaned. "Who's going to get Herr Stiefel and Herr Gabor?"

"_You_ are." Ernst replied. "She'll be in labor for a long time. See how much pain she's in now?"

"Isn't that how they normally get?" Ernst's eyes got wide and he shook his head rapidly.

"It's going to get worse." he said. "Go ahead and get the boys at the station. Explain everything."

"And miss this?" he replied, gesturing to the hallway. "And what about you?"

"I'll tell them she's my sister. There's a nurse that's real nice, she'll wheel me down to Ilse." Hanschen sighed exasperatedly and nodded. He walked over to Ernst and gave him a kiss goodbye.

"Don't...don't you die while I'm away." Hanschen said steadily, running his fingers through Ernst's hair. Ernst smiled at him. Hanschen hadn't left his side in weeks, and it made him very happy.

"And miss this?" he replied, "You can't be serious." He gave Hanschen another—slightly longer—kiss before Hanschen rushed out the door and down the hallway. As his footsteps died away, Ernst laid back in bed for a little bit, before finishing up the coughing fit he'd been fighting down for the past few minutes. "NURSE!" he shouted as soon as his throat and mouth were cleaned out. To his relief, it was Adelheid, his favorite nurse, who peeked her head in. She was young and petite, with blond hair.

"What is it, dear?" she asked kindly. "Do you need another kerchief?"

"No thank you, Adelheid." he said quickly. "Listen, my...sister is giving birth down the hall, Helga just wheeled her down the hall to the birthing rooms. I really want to be there for the birth..."

"I'll get you a chair." Adelheid interrupted, winking. As she whisked away, he smiled to himself.

"Dear God," he murmured, "So much is happening at this moment...please, don't take me now."

* * *

A/N: The birth of her child is a special, beautiful moment in a woman's life...but it hurts like a MOTHER. And of course the two gay guys are there to provide very little empathy :P Almost there!!


	38. Ch 37 Just Give it Time, Kid

"Let me in, you God-playing sadists!!" Moritz shouted angrily, banging on the door so hard that Melchior feared it would break. "Let me in! That baby is mine, too! _I demand to be let in this room!!_"

"Moritz, calm down." Melchior said flatly, still tired from the 6-hour journey from the boat to the train station to the hospital. "They're not going to let you in, the fathers are never present at the b—"

"I HAVEN'T SEEN HER IN MONTHS!!" Moritz yelled, half through the door and half at Melchior. "I DESERVE TO BE IN THAT ROOM!! ILSE, ILSE, I'M HERE!! ILS-E-E-E!!!"

"That screaming whale can't hear you." Hanschen added. "Can't you hear her howling?"

"She's screaming MY name!" Moritz shouted, this time fully at Hanschen. "And she's not a screaming whale, she's having my baby!" It was true, Ilse had been screaming his name for the last hour. It would've made sense for the doctors to just let him in with the hope of shutting her up.

"What did I miss? What did I miss?" Ernst's squeaky voice rang down the hallway as Adelheid wheeled him towards them. He still had blood droplets hanging on his lips from his last coughing fit.

"Nothing," Moritz groaned, slumping against the door. "They won't let me in." As he sank to the floor, Melchior felt a lump form in his throat. He knew how it felt to be barred away from someone you loved when they needed you the most. He was a little relieved that Reine wasn't in need back in America, how matter how stone-faced she was when they boarded the boat. He did miss her, already.

"Look, Moritz, it's okay." He said, getting up and putting his hand on Moritz's back. "You've been away from her for months; you can wait another few hours. Then you can see her _and_ the baby."

"I should've been here. Earlier." Moritz said, his voice muffled from facing the door. "She went into probably the worst pain of her life, and I wasn't there." His head dropped into his chest.

"Oh _grow up_, Herr Stiefel." Hanschen said flatly. Moritz jerked his head up and turned to him.

"Hanschen!" Ernst scolded, but Hanschen put his hand up to stop him. He stood up.

"What does it matter that you weren't there then, when you're here now?" Hanschen asked. "All that matters is that you're here supporting her _now_. I'm certain she knows that from your crazy yelling." Ernst stopped glaring at him and felt his cheeks flush with joy. Hanschen was an ass, but he always knew what to say. Hanschen stuck his hand out to Moritz on the floor, who hesitantly took it, and pulled him roughly to his feet. They stared at each other for a minute, before Moritz lightly hit him in the arm.

"You're a royal creep, Herr Rilow." Moritz said, before smiling weakly. "Thank you."

"!!!!!!"

Ernst jumped so high at the piercing scream that he toppled out of the wheelchair. Luckily Adelheid lunged forward and caught him round the middle so that Hanschen could get to him before he hit the floor. The two boys sprawled on the floor in a tangle of limbs, Ernst on top and Hanschen on bottom.

"What the hell was that?!" Hanschen shouted from under Ernst. "A dying animal?!"

"It was Ilse!" Moritz exclaimed, rushing back to the door. "Is she alright? What's wrong?!" Melchior grabbed the glass of water Adelheid had gotten Ernst and splashed the water out on the floor.

"Hey—!" Adelheid started, but Melchior wasn't listening. He put the empty glass to the door.

"Shush! I'm listening!" he said, putting his ear next to the glass. He listened for a few seconds. BANG! The door flew open and Melchior went flying with the sound of shattered glass. "Ow-w..."

"We need more nurses!" A short, portly doctor shouted down the hallway. "Nurses, now!"

"What is it, what's wrong?" Moritz asked quickly, grabbing the doctor's collar before he could shut the door. "That's my baby too, is something wrong with Ilse?" The doctor shook him off.

"Young man, you must stay—" Moritz didn't let him finish. He slipped past the doctor and into the room. "Hey, you're not allowed in there!" Moritz stopped dead in the door frame. What was _THAT?_

"Moritz?" Ilse gasped from her stirrups, seeing him between her spread-out legs.

"Il...se?" he said slowly. Unfortunately for Ilse, her face wasn't the first part of her that he saw. "Oh...my..." Was all Moritz could utter before he keeled over in a dead faint on the hospital room floor.

* * *

A/N: Same epic _Juno_ reference at the beginning, Hanschen's true colors shining through, and probably the only time Ernst will ever be on top of Hanschen :3 This was basically meant to be the chapter that makes the reader say "Oh COME ON, hurry UP!" It's coming, It's coming!!! :D


	39. Ch 38 Something Beautiful

"_Legs, in sky-blue stockings..."_

"_...the entire world were obsessed with penis and vagina!"_

"_I passed!"_

"_My son failed."_

"_Spring and summer..."_

"_So dark..."_

"_I love you..."_

"_Freedom of speech..."_

"_Moritz Stiefel is dead."_

"_...I have been running for days, but at last I am back..."_

"_I love you!"_

"_Abortion..."_

"_Ojala..."_

"_It's a bordello, you idiot...!"_

"_About ten minutes."_

_"...I"m living with the **Devil**!"_

"_She's having my baby!"_

"_I love you..."_

"Moritz...Moritz...Moritz!" The blurry voices in his head ceased as Ilse's voice pierced through them, calling his name. He could feel a soft hand stroking his forehead. Harsh light flooded his eyes.

"Ach..." he winced, instinctively lifting his hand to shield his eyes. As his hand flew up, it bumped against something. An arm? He shook his head a little, blinked a couple times, and looked up. Ilse was staring down at him, running her hand down to his cheek. She was smiling through her tears. "Ilse..." He said weakly, reaching up to touch her, to see if she was real. To his joy, she was very real.

"I'm here...!" She whispered, almost too happy to speak. She bent down to kiss him, only to have him pull her down with his outreached arm. He held her in a powerful kiss and embraced her. She was here, really here. He was home. He was whole again. All of his strength returned. Giggling, she got her arms under his back and helped him sit up with her before hugging him tighter. "You're home...!" she gasped, the tears running freely now. "It's all over...all over..." As he buried his head in her neck, he looked around and noticed he was in the same hospital room he had fainted in. Then he remembered.

"The baby!" he exclaimed, pulling back to look into her eyes. "I...I fainted...is everything..."

"Everything's fine, my love." she sighed. He noticed that her face was sweaty and flushed, like she had just run for miles. "The doctor took her to a separate room to clean her and swaddle her."

"Oh, thank goodness...!" Moritz felt his heart slow down and relief overcame him. "Thank Go—wait. Did...did you just say..._her_?" Ilse broke into a happy smile, biting her lip and nodding rapidly.

"A girl, Moritz." she whispered, leaning in close to him. "Right before he left, I heard him say, 'What a healthy girl!' We had a girl...!" Moritz threw his arms around her again, feeling the tears come. All the months and last few hours of waiting were all worth it now. He'd never been so happy in his life. He pulled Ilse back and kissed her. He had missed this the most. She responded passionately, running her fingers through his hair like she used to. Suddenly a knock at the door interrupted them.

"Special delivery!" Melchior said happily, entering the room, followed by the portly doctor. The doctor was smiling, and holding a small bundle wrapped in white linen. Moritz felt his heart stop.

"She's very healthy, my dear." said the doctor, walking towards them. "Got a strong voice, too!" The doctor delivered the bundle to Ilse's arms, and Moritz saw her, sleeping amidst the white.

"Hello, Wendla." Ilse whispered, her shoulders shaking. Moritz put his arm around her and held her as she held the baby. Melchior couldn't hold back tears as he heard her say 'Wendla'. Her name had never felt more comfortable to say since she died. Moritz leaned down and kissed his baby daughter.

"Ilse?" he whispered, leaning back to kiss her as well, gently on the lips. "Will you marry me?"

* * *

A/N: Do I even have to say anything? :)


	40. Ch 39 At The Heart of Everything

_Dear Ming-Wei,_

_I am very happy to hear of your engagement. I wish you and your fiancée boundless happiness. Tokyo sounds like a interesting place, but I don't think Ilse is in the mood to travel right now. She is 2 months along right now, and already she has become a little lackluster. We hope that we have a boy this time, not just so Wendy can have a brother, but so we can raise a proper young man, since there are so few in the world today. Ilse wants to name him Goteleib. I swear on my life I will never let that happen. _

_So much has happened...it is difficult to start. _

_Melchior returned to America shortly after Ernst's funeral. It was a somber service, but fitting. Everyone was surprised at how long he managed to hold on before the consumption finally took him. He was there to see Wendy's first birthday, and we were all surprised to hear her say her first word during a hospital visit. It was "Mama", of course. Ernst was more excited than Ilse was. We were all there beside him when he passed, including his parents. Hanschen held his hand the whole time. Mother has told me that Hanschen started talking to his stepmother again shortly after. He has expressed an interest in going into the ministry now, and becoming a country pastor. We don't really know why, he won't say._

_Melchior married Reine within the month he returned to America. They have a baby son now, named Ernest Heinrich Gabor. You told me that Reine had been keeping in touch with you, so you might already know that. Clothilde died of pneumonia shortly after Ernest was born. We all miss her, but we are happy to know that Versailles shall keep her bones. She left Melchior and Reine in charge of the bordello, so they could afford to fly her body to France. Melchior is thinking of turning it into a book store soon. Reine still misses her mother very much, but Melchior tells me she is coming around._

_After months of odd jobs, I finally have a steady job as a teacher in the next town over from my hometown. My father is very proud of me, and my mother finally moved back in with him. Looking at these little boys in my class, I am constantly reminded of how Melchior, Hanschen, Ernst and I were at that age. I can relate to the boys very well, and I can only hope that they follow my example in class. Ilse no longer has to work, so she can be home with Wendy instead of leaving her with Fanny Gabor. Wendy is growing up before my eyes. She will be starting school in a few years. God help me._

_I still make myself scarce when I go home to my parents, but hardly anyone recognizes me anymore. Ilse says it's because I'm not the same person that everyone last saw. Looking back, I realize that she is right. Before my journey started, I was a frightened boy who knew nothing of the outside world but fear and failure. Now, I feel that I have learned things that I could never have learned in Herr Sonnenstitch's classroom. I learned about love, and men and women, and life, and hard work, and God. Every morning I look at Ilse in my bed and I thank God that she stopped me from pulling the trigger of my father's pistol that night so many years ago. Then I hear Wendy call us from her bedroom, and I thank God again. _

_Germany is changing, slowly but surely. People think that war is on the horizon. Ilse and I have decided that if war does break out, we will flee to America, and take shelter with Melchior and Reine. I don't want Wendy growing up in a world surrounded by war. I want her to have a happy, carefree childhood. But I also want her to be prepared to become a young adult, not like I was. I was forced to learn everything at once, and while I wouldn't change one moment of it, I don't wish it on my daughter. Ilse and I will teach her everything she needs to know over time, and make sure she is ready for what ever happens in life. But God help any boy who wishes to get close to my little girl while she's still a little girl. I have decided that she will be a little girl until she is 20. Ilse is trying to change my mind. _

_Maybe someday we will see each other again, Ming-Wei. This world is very fateful, and if something is destined, somehow it will happen. I wish your life turns out as happily as mine did._

_Your friend,_

_Moritz Stiefel_

* * *

A/N: What a way to end a story; a nice, heaping helping of _exposition_! :D Whew! I feel like I have run a mile in my mind, and I'm so glad it's over. I hope you all enjoyed my little story. It will probably be the only one I post on here, but you never know: I'm seeing _In the Heights_ this spring! :)

Peace, love and purple summers,

GuiltyOne687

_~Fin_


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